


Rewrite Our Stars

by KingsAndThieves (TehLotteh)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Childhood Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Racism, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Shiro Whump, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Orphan Shiro, Others as background characters - Freeform, the greatest showman au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-07 23:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13445256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLotteh/pseuds/KingsAndThieves
Summary: Shiro's always known he was destined for more than being a servant to the aristocracy. He's already starting life near the base of the social ladder, but sometimes you don't truly start living until you've really hit the bottom.The path to the stars is a long, long road to take. They aren't as far away as they seem when you have someone there reaching beside you. And sometimes? Sometimes, it takes two outcasts to make a difference.Rating changed from G to M because of a slight divergence from the original plot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So guess who recently saw The Greatest Showman >.> I found the whole thing terribly endearing and a plot bunny hit me even before the credits had ended.
> 
> I'm going to aim for a weekly update, and with what I have roughly drafted so far I reckon this should only be a three chapter fic (or three and an epilogue). Although it's labelled as an AU, this will barely be following the storyline of the film at all, but it was so heavily inspired by the elements of the film I felt I had to associate it as such.
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

“Thank you for your services, Mister Shirogane.”

The younger Shirogane grunted quietly under the weight of the fabric bundled in his arms, widening his stance for balance while he waited for the adults to finish off with the pleasantries. His grandfather was bowing low as he replied in earnest that it was he who was grateful for the work opportunity, and that he would be more than willing to come back and work again in the future. Shiro had to disagree, but he’d long since learned to hold his tongue on these matters. The people they’d been tailoring for that afternoon were cruel and callous and he’d seen the younger master kick one of the dogs in the house for no better reason than that it was napping and he apparently didn’t think it deserved to. Shiro had automatically hated them for that. The insults about his ‘lesser’ race were just the icing on the cake.

Were he a more reckless boy, he’d perhaps have yelled back a response to the insinuations about his greater failings, or told him that even though he may not be white and rich, at least he had his humanity. But while sticks and stones may well break bones, words weren’t enough to put food on the table. They needed to work to survive. Or more precisely, they needed to work for such pitiful amounts from people who had so much more money than they knew what to do with, but the poorer citizens couldn’t exactly afford such delicate and exquisite suits as they offered, each one customised with hand-done embroidery to their exacting tastes. Due to his grandfather’s failing eyesight and his grandmother’s passing the year prior, Shiro had quickly picked up the needle as his weapon of choice. He went to bed every night with cramping fingers and a headache from focusing on such small details, crafting elaborate patterns and stylised animals and insignias, but if it helped keep a roof over their heads and gave his grandfather the opportunity to sleep at least some nights, it was worth it.

He’d once asked his grandfather why it was that the wealthy kept all their money to themselves when there were so many poor and starving souls on the streets, dying at the roadside and becoming nothing more than another nuisance to those with at least a penny to their name. It was entirely unfair, he’d argued, that they should hoard their wealth for the sake of posterity. His grandfather had had no response for him, and had simply and sadly slid him another design to get working on for the very people he wanted to question.

Shiro shuffled again, his fingers aching under the rolls and rolls of cashmere that easily cost more per metre than he could hope to hold in his hands in his lifetime. He wanted to quietly whine, to tell his grandfather that he was tired and sore and ready to go home, but he knew that would do nothing for them and, if anything, would prove costly with these particular clients. Children should be seen and not heard and all that. Especially nasty immigrant children, apparently. He’d seen pigs treated better than he had been in many cases. Then again, he’d seen street rats treated far, far worse. He knew he should be incredibly grateful for having a roof over his head.

Finally, _finally_ , the verbal swordplay was over, the door was politely slammed shut in their faces, and they could start the journey home. Their cart had been parked at the far end of the long drive and Shiro inwardly lamented the many metres that stood between him and a chance to put the piles in his arms down. He turned around to face the way they were going and dropped a shoulder down slightly, waiting until he felt a frail hand grip on with surprising force before he began their steady descent down the porch stairs.

His grandfather’s leg was playing him up more than he would ever admit, but Shiro had seen the signs. The silence on the subject was no doubt appreciated.

“We’re done today, right, Jiji?” he asked eagerly, flashing the older man an earnest pair of steel-silver eyes. The man chuckled softly and squeezed his shoulder, steps agonisingly slow beside him even as they settled onto the semi-even gravel. Shiro could see their donkey, Kenta, standing with his hind leg cocked and his head low as he dozed contently in the shade. It almost seemed a shame to disturb him, but he was sure the old mule would be more than content to get the harness off and settle in the small yard they owned once they got back home.

“That we are, my boy,” the man chuckled quietly, sharing his grandson’s relief. Constantly being alert and aware of their every word and posture was tiring and he wanted to embrace the silent evening while they prepared for the following day where they would get to repeat it all over again. Shiro beamed at him at the confirmation, a spring in his step despite the heavy burden he carried.

As soon as they were at the cart he was loading the fabrics in the back and securing them to make sure they didn’t unravel on the journey, calling out an apology as the rough motion jolted Kenta awake again. His grandfather moved to climb into the front of the cart while Shiro loaded up and shut the doors together, and he was still in the seat beside him before his grandfather got there. His eyes softened a little, seeing the way he was struggling. The damp air the night before had probably done him no favours, but the Shirogane pride ran strong in their veins and he would never mention it out loud.

“I’m going to cook dinner today,” he announced, knowing from experience that making any form of open suggestion would end with him being shut down. He wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to shoulder more work himself, not today. “I’m going to finally master that soup you taught me!”

“I’m sure you are,” was the response, tongue clicking as they urged the old donkey on the trail back home, and the lack of debate was both welcome and a surprise. Neither of them mentioned that most of Shiro’s attempts in the kitchen ended with a barely edible mess. Then again, knowing which side of the family he got that from, the elder of the two couldn’t really talk.

They made the trek home in companionable silence, Shiro slouching in the front seat as the endless fields and trees passed them by. The gentle _plod, plod_ of hooves on the ground was slow and dull and left him to daydream, building great worlds in his mind’s eye where he could leave all of this frivolity behind. He turned his gaze up to the sky, watching the blues darken to navies, and only perked up when he saw the first sparkling dots high above him.

He’d always loved the stars. They’d fascinated him for as long as he could remember, scintillating balls so high up in the sky that nobody could reach them. They were always there, always watching, but they only came out to play when the rest of the world went to sleep. They reminded him of guardian angels, or little imps that wanted to wreak havoc behind people’s backs. Sometimes, when a day had been particularly bad, he would imagine them hearing his cries and silent pleas before coming to mess with those who had upset him. He pictured the culprits waking up the next day to half their shoes missing, or all their paintings hanging upside-down in their houses. If he closed his eyes he could hear their melodramatic screams of horror at such minor inconveniences and he could rest a little easier thinking they might understand even a fraction of what he and his family faced on a daily basis.

When he’d been small, his mother had woven tales of great heroes and warriors who had earned their places among the stars, those whose deeds had changed the world for the better. She’d told him that you didn’t even have to do a huge deed to earn a place among the stars, that there were ones that hid behind the bright ones that were there all the same.

“Just like in the city,” she’d explained, brushing his hair back and placing a kiss to his forehead. “You see all these big names and you hear about all these famous people, but that doesn’t mean that those of us who go by unknown are any less deserving of a place here, as long as we do right by others.”

He’d held on to that, too. Somewhere up there were his mother and father, his grandparents, his brother. They were all up there, shining in their own way, and he didn’t care if nobody else could see them. He knew they were there, and that was all that mattered. He would make them shine for the world to see one day, he swore.

The sky bled black by the time they finally returned home, and Shiro hadn’t realised he’d started dozing until the carriage jolted him awake again as it pulled to a stop. He pushed himself up from where he’d napped against his folded arms, watching his grandfather gingerly slide himself out of his seat. He was quick to move to unload the cart while the other went into the house and moved their expensive wares to the safer, drier part of their quarters. After that he hurried back out to sort Kenta out, huffing under the weight of the heavy leather harness, and turned him out in the dingy backyard to make the most of his hours of freedom.

Shiro knew he had to go back in the house to start working on that embroidered peacock insignia for Lord Paon’s waistcoat and then get making something warm from the near-overripe potatoes and carrots they had stored in their tiny kitchen area, but just for a few minutes, if only a handful, he wanted to be able to stand outside with his arms outstretched on the fence and have chance to take in the world around him. The noise of other people in the streets around them, the gentle snort-chewing of Kenta, and the way the stars watched him from above... He knew life had to have more in it for him than this. And if it didn’t? If all destiny had written under _Takashi Shirogane_ was * _immigrant_ , * _amateur tailor_ and * _hopeless dreamer_ , well…

He guessed he would just have to take a pen in hand design a new life for himself instead.

 

 

“Three shillings.”

Shiro stood there, face blank, and stared at the harsh and expectant face of the merchant in front of him. He didn’t have three shillings. Hell, he barely had one, not after paying for the doctor’s fees for being called out yet again to see his grandfather that morning. The prognosis hadn’t been great, but one thing had been very clear – no food, no recovery. He’d known deep down three weeks ago that Jiji’s health was declining, but he just… He hadn’t expected it to drop quite so quickly. They had no food in the house and as much as his stomach was rumbling, he knew his grandfather needed it more than he did.

“Sir,” he spoke, voice meek and fully aware that nobody in their right mind would allow an immigrant boy talk them down, but being too desperate not to try, “it was only one last week. We really need it, sir- “

“Inflation, stupid boy. Adult things, though I suppose it’s not in your nature to grasp this type of delicate matter. It’s three shillings, or nothing at all.”

Shiro’s grip on the roll of bread instinctively tightened, but he knew there was nothing he could do. What options did he even have, to try and steal it and run? There were so many people around, he knew he wouldn’t get far, and then nobody would sell the small Japanese boy anything. The injustice of it all hit him square in the chest and it hurt to breathe. He couldn’t fail his grandfather like that. He needed the food, needed to rebuild his strength, or he would never get better.

Apparently Shiro had hesitated too long, and a second later the stall owner was snatching the bread from his hand and keeping it well out of his reach. His voice was raised and Shiro could feel eyes turning their direction, knew people were watching. Any more resistance would cause a scene. He needed to leave. “No money, no food,” the man spat, his glasses sliding down his nose with the force of his motion. Shiro dropped his gaze submissively and slunk away, feeling his eyes sting in frustration. He couldn’t go home empty-handed. He wouldn’t, no, he wouldn’t. He would work a way around this. He would find a way of getting food, maybe see if anyone needed repairs on their clothes doing, maybe find some kind soul who would be willing to put a down-payment on him; people loved sob stories, especially women with young children of their own…

His feet carried him a few streets away to a semi-empty back alley and then gave in a couple of steps later, knees hitting the concrete hard as he dropped. He leaned forward, fists slamming once, twice into the floor in frustration. There was probably unspeakable filth hidden in the cracks between the paving slabs, and his one clean pair of trousers was likely ruined for polite company, but he was so, so frustrated with that encounter. People walked past him as if he were merely a smear on the floor. Nobody cared for the poor boy crying his eyes out by the rubbish piles at the back doors of nearby shops. Nobody wanted to dirty their reputation by daring to engage with one of society’s fleas.

It was why the hand tapping his shoulder gave him such a shock. He curled up tighter in a flinch, as if bracing for a strike or a kick that seemed to be the common greeting for the street-rats around here, but when none came his curiosity was piqued. There, waving in front of his nose, was a loaf of bread. He blinked in disbelief, sitting upright and settling back on his ankles, and glanced to the person who was offering this lifeline to him. Wide, purple eyes stared back at him, and had Shiro had half his wits about him he might have noticed the slant to them that suggested he’d stumbled across someone who shared at least a drop of the Asian blood that coursed through his veins. His gaze had quickly been drawn, however, to the near patchwork quality of his skin.

Shiro had seen someone with vitiligo, once, sat at the side of the street with a rough woollen cloak bundled around their body and a begging bowl in front of them. His first thought on seeing this boy in front of him, however? _Cow_. Half of his skin, perhaps, looked smooth and semi-pale, although much like himself it sat a shade or two darker than the majority of the people around them. The patches were what caught his attention, however. Rough, leathery, and the colour of a ripe plum. Not only that, they were _furry_. Furry, purple splotches that created a random havoc over the boy’s body, irregularly shaped and irregularly placed, trailing down his jaw and covering one eye. The eye in question had a—a _yellow_ sheen to it, the pupil distorted into a slit.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to, because this was the living embodiment of some of the horror tales he and his brother had told each other when they were tiny, but he didn’t. He didn’t scream because in those weirdly coloured, slightly disfigured eyes, he saw a curiosity and a kindness he hadn’t seen outside of his own family.

The boy moved the bread again, silently urging him to take it, and Shiro accepted it with hesitation. He watched with rapt attention as this stranger moved back away from him after, as if afraid of being burned, before settling on his haunches like a dog, or a cat, or anything that wasn’t human. He moved in a way Shiro had never seen anyone move before. Hell, he looked like nothing he had seen before, either. He wore a tattered off-white shirt (although it was closer to brown now with countless days of muck and grime worked into the fabric) and some hole-ridden black trousers that were clearly a few sizes too big for him. The waist was bunched up and held together with a crudely knotted rope, and he wasn’t sure if the boots on his feet could be called such or if they were closer to gratuitous capes for his feet.

When Shiro didn’t immediately eat the bread the boy seemed confused, head tilting and eyes widening a fraction in a way that made him look both more like a small puppy, and equally like a boy a handful of years younger than Shiro. “Aren’t’ya gonna eat it?” He sounded so put out that Shiro immediately felt bad, especially since he doubted this boy could afford anything himself. He wondered if he’d been born with a skin condition and his parents had decided to publicly announce a “stillborn” rather than admit to having someone so unique in their family. The thought hurt him, so he didn’t dwell. The boy’s voice was rough, as if his vocal chords hadn’t had much use recently, and his accent was coarse and unfamiliar.

Shiro shook his head, the boy frowning deeper in confusion.

“My grandfather needs it,” he explained, not wanting him to think he was ungrateful. Quite the contrary. This boy’s generosity had given Jiji a better fighting chance than nothing. It would have been more convincing if his stomach hadn’t chosen to rumble just then. It wasn’t his fault, he was holding freshly-baked bread and he’d hadn’t had much appetite while Jiji was suffering. The boy looked petulantly at the bread in his hand at the sound, but when he saw Shiro stubbornly shake his head he sighed, reaching into his cloak and pulling another small loaf out.

Shiro watched him warily as he moved, coming to sit beside him, and broke the roll into two halves. He offered one out to Shiro, who shook his head once more, feeling bad. This was the boy’s food – he couldn’t take it. The younger sighed in annoyance and all but chucked the half at him, bringing his own up to tear a chunk out of it with sharp, canine teeth. “Y’r’useless if y’starve,” he grumbled, mouth open as he ate so that each half-chewed morsel was clearly visible, and Shiro lowered his gaze quickly. He supposed he had a point. He bit into his own bread and all but moaned around it. The dough was soft in his mouth, falling apart under his teeth. He could easily devour it but he knew to savour it, to make the most of it. Who knew when he might next get any?

The two ate in companionable silence for a time, watching from their place on the floor as people hurried past them. The invisibility was… Kind of nice, really. For once Shiro didn’t feel the need to keep his back straight or his head held high (but not too high – he wouldn’t want to look like he had ideas above his station, would he?), and instead he could let all those expectations off his shoulders and just be, just for a short time. The time was cut all too short when he saw the crisp uniform of the city watch turn the corner, and the boy beside him was on his feet in a flash and turning to the wall, already reaching up to latch his fingers in the cracks and start to scale it.

Shiro, caught in a sudden panic that his saviour might vanish and never be seen again, reached out to grab the edge of his shirt between his fingers, stilling him for a brief second. The boy turned to look at him with such a fierce and panic-ridden edge to his eyes that he reflexively dropped his hand, clutched the whole loaf closer in gesture. “I don’t even know your name,” he begged, but the warden was blowing his whistle and he knew the boy had to escape quickly, and Shiro was not about to let him get caught because of him.

“Keith,” came a short reply, and then in a whirl of fabric the boy was several metres above him and climbing fast, so much more agile than Shiro had ever seen before. His previous opinion of _cat_ quickly came back to mind, but he knew he had to scarper too before the bread in his arms was (correctly) presumed to be stolen. The whole run back to his house he ran that name over and over in his head, and he swore that he would find a way to repay him, no matter at what cost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -looks briefly at the previous three-chapter plan and chucks it out the window-

Life, Shiro decided, was very fickle indeed.

One day you could be happy in your routine, laughing with the ones you loved, telling stories with each other and breaking bread… And the next could find you standing alone in a graveyard in the pouring rain as you said a final farewell to yet another of your family members.

He didn’t cry, though. People died and he’d long since accepted that.

He’d cried when his brother had died, mind, the first of his losses. Ryou’s death had been sudden and it had torn the whole family apart. Shiro had seen it first-hand, felt the chilling of his core as he saw the bolting horse knock his twin from his side and crush him in the street. He’d felt the numbness course through his veins as he ran to his side and was met with a lifeless gaze. It had been quick, and that had been the only real blessing.

His father had died in a factory accident some months later. His grandmother was gone next, passing peacefully in her sleep not long after. His mother had consequently died of a heart that couldn’t go on any more.

His grandfather had passed much like his wife.

Nobody had come to the funeral. The Shiroganes didn’t really have friends in the city, it seemed, and even those that they did have more than a passing acquaintance with couldn’t afford to skip out on work to pay their respects. It was a matter of survival. Shiro couldn’t fault them there.

It was just like how he couldn’t fault the orphanage for not taking him in, because “who would ever bother to adopt a Jap? He’ll be more useful as a corpse feeding the dogs in the streets.” He couldn’t fault their landlord for throwing him out even though they had a few days left before the next payment was due, because he needed time to clear it out and show it off for a new tenant. He couldn’t fault the bank for sending men to repossess whatever belongings they had, even though nobody told him the numbers involved. He knew they’d had their debts. He wasn’t that naïve.

He couldn’t fault himself for crying himself to sleep his first night as a street-rat. He’d managed to steal a small bag of belongings before he was chucked out, but it was barely bigger than his palm, and all they’d really had of any worth had been their sewing supplies anyway. As he’d argued to himself, it was only logical to have some means of repairing his clothes when they inevitably wore through. It was being pragmatic. He’d gotten some scraps of fabric and loose bits of felt and sequins tucked away inside his little pouch, just in case.

That first night out on the streets he had holed himself up in the first corner he’d found unoccupied, and quickly discovered why. The bitter evening wind ripped through his thin clothes, his one long coat that had once belonged to his father doing little to protect him from the elements. The drizzle and humid air had quickly soaked through the woollen fabric and he’d woken sporadically to find himself damp underneath. The loneliness was perhaps colder than the air and sank deep in his bones, and he missed waking up from a nightmare and being able to see someone sleeping in the bed the other end of the room. It had been a comfort to know he wasn’t alone. Even as his circle of support had grown smaller and smaller, he’d still always had _someone_ there.

He’d woken with the sun that first morning and done little but remain curled up in his spot, hiding under the coat despite the fact that most people would just walk past him as if he didn’t exist. Hunger had been the catalyst to force him to move in the end, but he hadn’t been brave enough to leave any of his scant belongings behind. Wrapped up in the drenched coat he’d ambled through the markets, trying to find a single, negligent keeper that might not notice a missing piece of food.

His first attempt had ended with him being held off the ground by one wrist while a solid backhand whipped his head to the side. The sting against his cheek had almost hurt as much as the sting of humiliation, the whispers of onlookers commenting that his behaviour was despicable ringing in his ears long after he’d bolted to hide in a corner and recover his tattered nerves. He felt wrong stealing. These people were only selling for their own livelihood, much as he and his grandfather had done with their tiny business, and he was taking from them. It was a horrifically painful lesson to learn at thirteen that the need for survival could turn a man blind to even his strongest moral views.

His second and third attempts had gone much like his first, just in different parts of the city and with different hands on him. He quickly discovered that rings hurt more than he thought they would and had the possibility to cut at the right angle and with enough force. He hadn’t bled much, but there’d been enough on his fingers when he’d wiped at the pain to deter him from visiting that particular stall again.

His first day ended in numbing hunger, so far gone he wasn’t aware any longer. He’d barely been eating while his grandfather had been sick, and his stomach appeared to have just accepted the lack of food without question. Not wanting to bother wasting his energy hunting for something he wouldn’t be able to procure that day, Shiro instead turned his efforts into finding a better place to sleep. He thought about his errors in his previous choice, the way the rain had fallen, the direction of the breeze and the wind tunnel he’d inadvertently sat in. Keeping all this in mind he’d explored further, found a better alcove between some crates in the back of a factory yard, and managed to sleep in relative warmth.

It took a lot of trial and error, but day by day he felt a little less helpless. He found a leaking tap by the butcher’s shop where he could sneak water when nobody was looking. He watched and waited to see what customers distracted stall-owners the most, learned to pick his moments and act without hesitation whenever they arose. He learned to rotate to avoid routine, rarely staying in one part of the city for more than a day.

Learning the danger signs for stepping in someone else’s territory? That didn’t come to him quite so quickly.

It was nearing his second week on the streets and Shiro was, if not comfortably full, at least not starving. That morning he’d managed to steal an apple as well as a larger-than-usual loaf from one of his least favourite stalls (ranking based on the fact the man treated his own staff about as well as he treated stains on the floor – his food was usually fairly fresh), and had even wrapped half up in a rag to save for later. His hair was falling a little in his face, always having been longer at the front than the sides anyway, and he was beginning to wish he’d grabbed a pair of blunt scissors when he left so he could hack at the strands and stop them irritating his eyes. Sure, he had the small pair in his bag, but they were sharp and for fabric and he was loathed to blunt them on something as trivial as hair. He was beginning to resign himself to the fact he might have to let it grow long enough that he could braid it back, but until it got to that point it was just going to be a nuisance.

With his food for the day sorted early-enough on, Shiro decided to take a few hours to scout out his surroundings a little better. He’d found a comfortable place to sleep that didn’t seem to be disturbed by others, but he wanted a back-up plan in case he came back to it one day to find that it was no longer a viable option. Taking a right turn past the main square, he followed the winding alleyways further from his usual haunt, oblivious to the odd lines and symbols roughly scratched into the walls with what looked like a blunt stone. Three parallel lines, like claw marks, stood out against the brick.

Despite his obliviousness, he’d immediately realised that this area, while clearly avoided by the wealthy public, was a better place strategically for squatting in. The buildings offered better shelter, higher walls, cleaner grounds. It was surprisingly empty, too.

Empty, save for the sudden and high-pitched scream off to his right.

He acted on instinct, darting over in the direction of the sound to see who was in trouble. He was greeted with the sight of two boys who appeared to be near his age, one holding some small stuffed toy up above his head while the other was grappling with someone smaller than them. Both boys had shaggy, dark hair, the one standing being taller than Shiro and more slender too, his face and jaw narrow and pointed, while the other appeared to be considerably bulkier if only an inch shorter in actual height.

“Little girlies should know better than to play this side of the square,” Fox-face sneered, stepping closer and lowering the toy down, dangling it back and forth as if taunting his prey. Shiro caught a glimpse of pink fabric through the mud and dirt that caked it, and at the renewed sobbing from the ground his suspicions were confirmed. It would have been bad enough for them to be ganging up on another boy, but two of them harassing a much younger girl was against everything Shiro stood for. She, much like her toy, was covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime, her hair a muddy-grey and her eyes red and sparkling with tears that ran tiny rivulets down her cheeks.

“Give it _back_ ,” she yelled, her accent eloquent and peculiar to Shiro’s ears. It wasn’t the sound he’d come to associate with the darker-skinned people in the area. The bulkier boy tightened his grip on her arms and twisted, drawing out a high-pitched cry from her as he forced her to bend further to the side.

“Finders, keepers, bitch.”

To Shiro’s amazement the girl, apparently struck by a moment of bravery, twisted where she knelt and sank her teeth into the boy’s hand. He yelled out in shock and struck her to the ground on reflex, and that was when Shiro’s own feet seemed to remember they could move. He shrugged his coat off and chucked it quickly to the side with his small bag of belongings, striding up to them with hopefully more confidence than he felt.

“Get away from her,” he growled, squaring up in front of them. The boys seemed to notice that they were not alone for the first time, Fox-face returning his arm to his side while the wider boy stood up properly, and Shiro’s first assumption about his height was suddenly painfully naïve. He was facing down two boys who had most likely had a few years of growth-spurt on him, and although deep down he felt the gut-wrenching tendrils of fear for his own skin, on the surface he was bubbling with the injustice that that these two were picking on a girl who was barely half of their height.

“Prorok, look,” Fox-face purred, crossing his arms nonchalantly as he sized the newcomer up. “Two intruders in one day.”

“I don’t want any trouble,” Shiro offered, voice still low in warning even as he raised a hand placatingly. He saw no reason he and the girl couldn’t just scarper and vow never to return. By the way Prorok was slowly advancing on him, though, that wasn’t on the cards.

“Don’t want no trouble, he says,” Prorok snarled. “This is our turf, boy. Can’t have you two thinking you can stroll on in whenever you want.”

“It was a mistake, I’m sure, if you just let us both—”

A fist swung at him and Shiro barely ducked in time, feeling the whoosh of air over his cheek. He stumbled back, never having been in a situation like this before, and the second his inexperience became apparent the other pushed his advantage. Blow after blow came Shiro’s way, some bouncing off fortunately thrown up arms, but with increasing frequency the blows struck him in the ribs, the side of the head. One caught him in the face and he felt his skin light up in pain, the follow-up strike knocking him clean to the floor.

In a panic he kicked his legs out, trying to keep the other at bay, but he felt his legs forced down as a body straddled him and pressed down with enough force to knock what little air he had out of his chest. A forearm came to press down on his throat, and Shiro stilled, eyes wide like a frightened rabbit’s. He gasped for breath, never able to get enough but not being deprived enough to choke. He could feel the muscle in the boy’s arm and knew that if he wanted to, he could crush his windpipe with ease.

“Even that little bitch put up a better fight than you,” he sneered, seeming to thrive off the other’s fear. Shiro supposed that it would be quite intoxicating in a world where everyone looked down on you your whole life. He had to admit that he’d craved respect more than he would like, but while he wanted his respect to be earned through hard work, these boys seemed to want to get theirs through fear. That realisation made Shiro determined not to give it to them so easily, and he forced a determined expression on his face, even if his vision was starting to go a little spotty. He felt Prorok press down harder, and then whatever small gasps he’d managed before were lost. It sounded like water rushing past his ears, the spots blocking the view before him with alarming frequency. Not even two weeks on the street and he was going to die, an example to others that in a dog eat dog world, they were nothing but new-born whelps.

The distant sound of footsteps approaching at a run came with the relief of air, Prorok’s arm being lifted as his attention went elsewhere. Shiro didn’t care to pay attention to what words were being shouted, but he saw his opportunity and, if death’s jaws were coming for him anyway, he was going to make sure he wasn’t easy to swallow. Mustering up his energy he moved his arm under and up, using the other’s distraction to allow him to shove the arm off his neck. With Prorok thrown off balance he surged up, smacking the front of his head into the other’s face, and was rewarded with a satisfying crack and a yowl of pain.

The boy cursed at him and swung a fist back at him in response, and Shiro hit the ground hard yet again. His ears were at least ringing instead of whooshing, although he didn’t know if that could be considered a step-up or not. He felt him get off him, even as he shakily pushed himself back up, feeling the world spinning from both a lack of oxygen and as the unfortunate consequence of getting one’s head smashed in the side. Three sets of footsteps ran away, although one pair ran to him. Someone was telling him he had to move, he had to get up because the wardens were coming, and he mumbled something about the girl, trying to get them to understand the girl needed help because it didn’t sound like the girl talking to him, and apparently the girl was fine but they _really_ needed to move.

It took some shoving from the stranger but Shiro got up to his feet, one hand firmly holding onto his wrist and dragging him while another, much smaller hand latched onto his spare and hurried behind him. He had enough sense to keep an eye on where he was running and not fall over, but it wasn’t until they’d wound their way through God knew how many alleys and twists and turns and he was pushed to sit down that he started to become aware of his surroundings properly again.

The girl was collapsed on the floor beside him, hugging her knees to herself as her chest heaved, no doubt exhausted and still in shock from everything that had happened. Shiro was relieved to note her clothes appeared to be intact after the encounter, not having really seen what had happened to her, but her dress was in one piece if a bit torn, and her brown trousers underneath were still firmly on. Good. He didn’t think he could bare the guilt if he hadn’t been able to prevent them from hurting her like that.

A rustling to his other side caught his attention, and he turned in surprise when he saw who was unfurling a rope from a stash of rubble. He watched as the boy took a few steps back, testing the weight of the rope in a few swings before launching it up above him. Whatever he’d been aiming for had apparently taken, since he gave the rope a few solid tugs before turning to face them.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured, and the boy turned to him with an expression of thunder, so different from what he’d been anticipating after the open curiosity and kindness he’d shown him last time.

“Can’ye climb?” he snapped, and it took Shiro a moment to work out what he meant. He’d done some climbing in his youth in the backyard with his brother, sure, but his limbs still felt like jelly. He nodded either way, and Keith jerked his head up to the rope. “Get up first and wait f’me at the top.”

Not wanting to incite any more of his annoyance Shiro scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over his coat and pack. He was surprised to see them there and noted that Keith must have picked them up when he came to their rescue. He would have to thank him, but the boy had already turned and was crouching down to get the girl to climb onto his back, and so Shiro gathered his things up and turned his attention back to the rope.

It was slow going as he tried to convince his limbs to co-operate, but before too long he was moving at a good speed and had pulled himself up over the top. He was surprised to find them in the shade, in what appeared to be an abandoned top floor of the building. One of the walls was collapsed but the other three still stood fairly well, the roof only ruined in a few patches. In the corner there was a pile of blankets, a small bag of belongings, and a crate that seemed to be serving as a table. He was still looking at them when he heard the huff behind him, Keith reaching the top of the wall and gently settling the girl down. Once he was up too he pulled the rope up, coiling it and chucking it to the side. Safety, Shiro guessed, somewhere they wouldn’t be followed. Somewhere to relax for at least a little while.

Keith spared him a glance as he stalked over to his pile of blankets, grabbing one to pass to the girl, and after a moment’s thought grabbed a second to give to Shiro. Shiro hesitated in taking it, not wanting to look like he was after everything the boy had to offer. He’d already fed him once, after all.

“Thank you,” he said instead, watching as Keith’s eyes widened in curiosity. Without the annoyed glare he looked a lot younger, a lot more like he remembered. He wondered how old Keith was. He would have put him at about eleven if he had to guess, but maybe he was only a year younger than he was himself. A baby face could easily take years off.

Keith shrugged and sat down, gesturing for the other two to join him as he pulled his own blanket around himself. Shiro was more than willing to follow suit, bundling up and crossing his legs under the fabric. The girl was a little hesitant, and he could see her warily eyeing them both up now that she wasn’t in immediate danger, but she was soon coming and plopping herself down close to Shiro, practically drowning under the blanket piled around her.

“What wer’ya doing over there? Ya’d no business being in the Daibazaal quarter.” Keith was staring at him intently and it took Shiro a moment to work out what he was referring to. Of course. He must have assumed he was still living with his family. The idea of saying “I’m homeless” out loud was harder than he’d assumed, and Shiro instead found himself offering a sheepish shrug, gaze dropping.

“Looking for a new roof, I guess.”

There was a moment of silence between them, but when he raised his gaze again he could see a minute expression of understanding in Keith’s eyes. The boy seemed to hesitate for a moment before shaking his head, that firm expression coming back on his face. “S’not a safe place. Th’Galra’d soon as gut ya as look’t ya.”

“The Galra?”

“Gang. They run the western districts.” Through snippets of conversations and painfully short answers, Shiro managed to get the general gist of what had happened while he was less than cognisant. Keith had been passing by the edges of the boarders in attempt to scavenge scraps when he’d heard a hubbub going on. Someone had alerted the wardens and he’d gotten close enough to see what was happening. When he’d recognised Shiro there, along with the two Galra (Prorok and Throk, apparently), he’d come in to try and get the two of them away from the area before the officers came and removed them in a less than pleasant way. He said he’d heard someone in the area mention having seen the girl, but he hadn’t met her before either.

“What’cha call yerself, anyway?” The question was directed at both of them, but seeing the girl purse her lips Shiro decided to answer first.

“Shiro’s easiest,” he explained after a moment, shrugging slightly. “My family called me Takashi, but...”

The end of the sentence went unspoken, how he wanted to avoid reminders of his family for the moment. He’d heard plenty of people butcher their surname anyway, and the first half seemed to be the part they had the least difficulty pronouncing. The two of them turned the girl expectantly, but she shook her head adamantly.

“Papa always said _never_ to tell my name to _anyone_.”

“Yer Papa’s not on the streets, though,” Keith pointed out, but the girl sent such a glare his way that Shiro couldn’t help but chuckle. Now that she seemed less shy and nervous than before, it seemed that spark of confidence he’d seen when she’d bitten Prorok was coming out. She had the self-assurance of a proper little madam, he was sure.

“Maybe we should call her Princess,” he joked, but the silence that followed them was less dismissive and more considering. It could be a fitting placeholder, if nothing else.

Shiro found himself starting to doze as the three of them fell into companionable silence, although he wasn’t aware of it until Keith nudged him awake again. He’d started to tilt dangerously to one side, and as Keith quietly reminded him, falling asleep after suffering a solid blow to the head wasn’t wise. Keith proceeded to go and sort through his belongings in the corner, checking on his food stash with a comment that they could pitch together and share a meal that evening, and Shiro suddenly remembered what had started his whole escapade that afternoon. He turned to the girl, noting how she was still bundled up in a blanket cocoon. “Did you manage to get your toy back?”

With the way her eyes suddenly welled up he regretted asking, and he watched as she dug her hands down under the layers before pulling out two different pieces of toy. It looked like Fox-face, in his infinite pettiness, had torn the head clean off. Shiro frowned in sympathy and reached out on instinct, though she quickly pulled her hands back and held the pieces close to her chest. He couldn’t blame her. When it was all you had, you held on to it with your life.

“May I look at it?” he asked, voice low and soft. He could feel Keith’s eyes on him from the opposite end of the room, the odd yellow sheen a little more visible in the shadows than the rest of him. “I’m from a family of tailors. I can fix it right back up for you, if you want me to.”

She seemed to take some time to consider, although eventually turned fully to place the two halves delicately in his lap. He picked them up to examine, getting up from his seat so he could carry them over to the light to examine them properly. Pink, as he’d first thought, and quilted too. The tear wasn’t as clean as he’d first thought, and he knew there would be no way to attach the two pieces as they were. He would need something else to put in between… He twisted the pieces around to work out what they were and saw to his surprise that it was some kind of cat- or dog-shaped toy. Fairly crudely made judging by the fact he couldn’t work out what it was, with a missing button eye and some loose thread in an attempt of a fluffy tail tip.

He moved to grab his bag of supplies and took a seat back in the corner again, using the dying daylight so he didn’t have to strain his eyes. He pulled out ribbons and furs, small gems and rhinestones he’d salvaged. He heard shuffling and heard the girl settle down beside him, no doubt wanting to watch what he was doing. He held a small handful of colourful stones out to show her, watching her as she picked them up to examine. She seemed to be fond of the gold ones, and when she returned them to him he put the rest in the bag and started to prepare his thread.

“What’s your favourite animal?” Not only for simple conversation, he was hoping her answer might tell him what on earth he was supposed to be working on.

The girl hummed loudly in thought, dragging the noise out before raising her hands up in mock claws, hunching up with a playful growl. “A lion!”

A lion? Not what he thought this toy was supposed to be. Still, he could work with that. Might help with fixing up the join on the neck, too. “A lion!” he exclaimed in mock surprise, grinning lightly at her. He dipped the thread in his mouth to wet the end of it so that he could slide it into the eye of his needle and picked up the head to start his toy surgery. She was hovering near him with the air of someone who was going to ask a lot of questions, and while he didn’t mind talking with someone, he was less fond of being scrutinised. He thought back to when he and his brother would pester their parents while they worked, and their mother would take the two of them aside and tell them stories as she sewed flowers onto the hems of skirts. “Have you heard the story of Fala, the greatest Queen of the Lions in history?”

She shook her head, eyes wide, and Shiro was pleased to have caught her attention. While he worked his trade he wove a story for her, tailoring it according to her individual reactions. He told her a story of how there was a lion for each element of the world, and how Fala was queen of them all. He painted a great underwater world for her, with mermaids and seahorses who were half horse and half fish, blessed with great long tails and covered with scales that shimmered like diamonds. He told her how Fala went to the great ocean kingdom to search out the Sea King, Ao, and when Keith stepped over to give them both some bread and cheese he’d managed to gather for the day, he told her about the fearless knight of the sea, a merman with colour-changing skin who could blend in to any surroundings. Keith came and sat with them, silently listening to Shiro’s story, and even gasped at the appropriate moment as the evil sea wolves captured the poor King.

Shiro’s story tapered off as he heard quiet snoring from his lap where the girl had drifted off against him, nestled against him for warmth with a small smile on her face. Fed and safe, he couldn’t blame her for falling asleep. He snapped the last bit of thread off with his teeth, examining his handiwork in the dying moonlight. Gold rhinestones for eyes and a white-fur mane, Shiro had to admit he was pleased with his results. He could only hope she liked it, too.

“Y’ve got a good imagination.” Keith’s quiet voice caught Shiro’s attention and he glanced to him as the boy gathered his blanket back up, moving towards the sheltered back-corner of the room. He sounded a little wistful, something Shiro couldn’t quite understand. He tilted his head in confusion, tucking the toy into the girl’s arms and doing his best to pick her up so he could move them both away from the draft.

“I’ve always liked to imagine worlds like that,” he admitted, putting her down right in the corner so he could protect her from any draft with his body. He’d never had a sibling who was considerably younger than him, but he supposed that after being surrounded by family he was just aching to care for someone again. She filled a gap in his soul he hadn’t known was there. The three of them together already felt like a family and he was loathed to let himself fall into that trap. Who knew if they would want to stick together come the next morning? At least for one night only they could have this comfort. “Just close your eyes and you get transported so far away. You let yourself dream and you can be a knight slaying a dragon, or a prince on a throne, or you could _be_ a dragon eating a prince. There are infinite possibilities.”

Keith shrugged, bundling the ends of his blanket under his head to act as some sort of pillow. “I dunno many people who c’n do that. Yer story was real nice, though. Y’should tell another sometime.”

Shiro had to say, even just telling a story to the two of them there, he’d really enjoyed it himself. They’d both seemed engrossed in his words, able to see the world he was describing for them. If he could create these worlds for them, if he could he would transport them from the cold and dark lives they lived, then he would tell them stories every single night.

He rolled onto his side so he could watch the sky from where he lay, and as he watched the first stars come out to play he felt himself relax a little. It had been rough, oh, God had it been rough. These first few weeks alone had been something he didn’t want to relive. But as he let his eyes drift closed and curled up in the safety of the bodies around him, for the first time in days he dared to let himself dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was aiming for a weekly update but I have a friend coming to stay with me Thursday-Monday next week. My aim is to try and get the next chapter written and saved as a draft so all I have to do is publish it next Sunday, but I'll see how my workload goes. It might just be a smaller chapter or it might be late. I'll post any decisions on my [tumblr](https://kingsandthieves.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry, I ended up not managing to get the chapter finished in time, but my friend left a few hours ago and I was determined to crank the rest of it out as soon as. I haven't had chance to proofread it yet since I have to catch up with my coursework too, but I didn't want to leave this waiting much longer. I'll get to correcting any issues tomorrow with any luck, so apologies if there are any parts that read funny! Feel free to let me know in case I miss them later.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy <3

Shiro had long since become familiar with the concept of _dropping a bombshell_. His mother had used the term quite liberally from anything to do with crippling debt to accidentally insulting someone. Since he and his small ragtag group had had no material goods with which to get into debt, nor did they seem to be particularly sensitive to comments, he’d been pretty certain he could avoid said metaphorical bombshell. Princess, however, who had been moulding herself more and more to her moniker, clearly had had other plans.

The three orphans had hesitantly and wordlessly formed themselves into some sort of pack. During the daytime each would go their separate ways, do whatever they had to in order to survive another day on the streets, and meet up again as the sun began to set. Keith’s hovel had quickly become their hovel, and consequently Shiro had taken up role of resident storyteller. Princess was very demanding in what stories she wanted and who she wanted to hear about, but sometimes when she had fallen asleep and the two boys wished to prolong the cold, dark nights for just a little longer, Keith would utter a hushed request and Shiro would create something for him in similar and reverent tones.

In order to break up their routine a little, Keith proposed that he show them some finer points of the city around them. Having been on the streets longer than the other two, and alone for the most part from what he’d told them, it hadn’t taken him too long to discover little places of interest. It was a Friday evening when Keith took the three of them up onto the rooftops, the sky dark enough that they wouldn’t stand out to passers-by below. The two boys took it in turns to set up the planks of wood and hold them steady while the rest of them crossed, but Shiro had the distinct feeling that if he’d been alone, Keith wouldn’t bother with the makeshift bridges. The buildings weren’t too far apart to be impossible to jump, and the memory of that first meeting when he’d seen Keith scale a wall like it was nothing had stayed with him.

Eventually they’d reached their destination, Keith plopping himself down on the rim of the building and letting his legs hang over the other side. Shiro came to settle beside him, Princess settling on Shiro’s left, and he took a moment to study the scene in front of him.

They were on the outskirts of the entertainment quarter, and it showed. The streets below them were wider, cleaner and cobbled in mottled grey, lit with a softly diffused amber glow from the streetlamps around them. He could see carriages pulling up at one end, people being let out and taking each other’s arms on the walk up to the building directly opposite them. Large pillars and a tastefully gothic façade framed the entrance, a few steps leading up to wooden double-doors packed with people in their finest dresses and suits. A glint of gold near the top of the building, and Shiro’s eyes fell on the embossed plaque of the _Thayserix Theatre_.

“I’ve been here before,” he murmured, dropping his gaze back down to the people below. There were all sorts gathered: young and lovey-dovey couples hanging off each other’s arms as they made their way inside; elderly friends out to indulge in the finest entertainment the city had to offer; families bringing their children to educate them in the cultural side of life. Shiro had fallen into that third category once, vague memories of he and his brother being stuffed into suits and brought to the theatre with their parents. They had barely been able to afford spots in the standing area at the back of the hall, but a remarkably generous client who had been pleased with one of the Shirogane family’s products had insisted they come along to one of the shows as payment. Shiro didn’t remember which ballet they had gone to see, but he remembered the sensation of music washing over him, of colours and lights and patterns as the dancers moved across the stage.

“I like seein’ people after.”

He turned to Keith as the younger boy spoke, his purple eyes focused on someone or other down below with a laser focus.

“Oh?”

“Mmm. S’nice to see what makes’em happy, ya know?” Keith responded, his mouth curling up slightly on one side. “Some of’em look genuinely happy after, but a lot of’em don’t. It’s like they go to show their faces an’ not to see the show.”

It’s not like Keith was wrong, there. In Shiro’s experience a lot of people cared far more about appearances than anything else. It was what had made it possible for his family to put bread on the table, after all.

Princess leaned forward so she could get a better look down below, and Shiro had to resist the urge to grab on to the back of her shirt in case she stretched too far. She may have been a good few years younger than him, but the protective instinct she brought out in him was painfully strong at times. “Look at her!” she exclaimed, sticking a finger out and pointing down into the crowd. Shiro searched the general vicinity but with a good hundred or so people down there, ‘her’ wasn’t exactly a helpful description. When he was slow to respond, Princess huffed loudly and kicked her leg sideways to catch him in his shin.

“Hey!”

“Look though! Isn’t she pretty?”

“They’re all very pretty,” he said diplomatically. He could see Keith glancing between them, trying to work out who she was pointing at too, although he stayed tactfully silent. Although the three of them were a group, he’d come to terms with the fact that Shiro was the favourite among the three, and he would often get ignored in favour of Princess getting the eldest’s attention.

“What’s that furry stuff on her hands? It looks like she’s holding a kitty or something.”

Finally having a clue as to what he was looking for, Shiro’s eyes trained in on the woman in question. From what he could tell she had a pale yellow A-line dress on, almost to the floor, and a fur-lined cape around her shoulders to keep herself safe from the chill. What must have caught Princess’ eye was the muff around her arms, which he had to admit did look incredibly warm. He was more than a little envious of that. He wasn’t envious of her for having to keep the white fur clean, though.

“It’s called a muff,” he explained, wondering if he sounded like a walking encyclopaedia yet. He hadn’t realised quite how much he’d picked up from the family business simply through exposure, but he was sure that on any other topic his knowledge would be completely useless. “It’s for keeping your hands warm, a little like gloves.”

Princess seemed enamoured with his answer, staring down at the clothing in question with a glint in her eyes that the boys would very quickly learn meant evil for them. “I want to look like her for my birthday. I want to go to the theatre and watch a show like a real lady!”

“Ye gots to have manners t’be a real lady,” Keith mumbled under his breath, but the glare she sent his way as she overheard made even Shiro’s blood run cold. For all that she could be cute and defenceless at times that reminded him of a kitten, the sheer bloodlust in her eyes often lead him to believe she had claws that were sharp as sin just waiting to sink into the first unsuspecting victim. Keith had the decency to lower his gaze in mock submission, but this close Shiro could see the corner of his mouth twitching in a barely suppressed smile. If he pushed his luck, Shiro wasn’t going to save him from the chopping block.

Instead, since he was apparently the peacemaker of the group, Shiro nudged his shoulder against hers and offered her a placating smile of his own. “Yeah? I’m sure you can, one day. When is your birthday?” Even if they couldn’t take her to a real show or anything, Shiro was sure he and Keith could whip up some extravagant story-telling evening to cater to her every whim. With enough time, maybe he could fashion a dress or something for her too. He’d not exactly had much experience with making garments in his time with his family, instead being left to do the more artistic parts, but he could use trial and error to work something out.

He’d anticipated a couple of weeks or so at the very least, knowing children’s usual tendencies to hyper-fixate on their birthdays long before they actually became relevant. A couple of weeks for him to get his thoughts together and plan something out for her. Keith had confessed to not having a sewing bone in his body but Shiro was sure that he could find at least a nerve or two in him that might show some competence. If nothing else, he would make a suitable and temporary mannequin. He was scarily petit, after all, and if he could stay still for two seconds he could be of some use.

Yet when Princess turned to face him, eyes wide and expectant, a firm pout to her lips, he knew his initial estimate had been a horrible miscalculation. “Tuesday,” she’d adamantly stated, and Shiro realised that if he failed to deliver her wishes, he may very well replace Keith on her sacrificial altar.

 

 

“I think there’s a dead body in’ere.”

Although he had been eager to fill her request, Shiro hadn’t anticipated finding himself almost waist-deep in the city’s dumping-ground. It was cleared away each week to be burned, but Keith had assured him that it was the best place to find anything of any remote value when buying things honestly was off the table. Honestly, it was like being stuck in quicksand – whenever he tried to move the landslide around him would start to cave, and he’d resigned himself to being stuck in one spot until Keith decided to rescue him.

Keith, who kept vanishing from sight as he all but dove through the mountain of abandoned clothes and fabrics and broken furniture, reappearing at a completely different part of the tip with no logical way of getting there. This time when he’d spoken he was somewhere behind Shiro, and the honest and slightly pensive tone to his voice sent shivers up his spine… And definitely not in a good way.

“A body,” Shiro responded, praying Keith didn’t notice how his voice wavered. Honestly? He could well believe there being a corpse or two hidden in here. Quick murder and needed to dispose of the evidence? Where better than the big stinking pile at the edge of town that would all be carted away in a day or two. Part of him wanted to turn around to assess the situation, but another part of him both wanted to live in blissful ignorance for a little longer, and he was also painfully aware of the instability of the slopes either side of him. One wrong move and he could end up drowning in the less-than-metaphorical ocean, lost for eternity.

“Yeah… S’kinda rotten…” There was the sound of something moving behind him and Shiro suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. What if something lurked underneath and grabbed at him? He could just imagine clammy claws wrapping around his ankles and tugging hard. “Oh, _ew_! S’head came off!”

“Keith, stop, that’s horrib— _AAAAH!_ ”

Shiro never finished his sentence as something round and solid hit him in the back of his head, tearing a high-pitched and terrified squeal from him. He flailed, flight instinct kicking in hard, and made to dart out the way. It would have been at least a little more successful if he hadn’t forgotten about his legs being stuck in unnamed debris, but as it was he tried to take one step forward and while his legs remained in place his body carried on forward. He crashed face-first into the mess in front of him, getting a mouthful of old curtain for his trouble, and was rewarded with howls of laughter off behind him.

He’d heard a lot of different types of laughter in his time. Most of the women they’d worked for had hidden their smiles behind demure hands and soft chuckles. He was plenty familiar with the hearty guffaws of men whose inhibitions had been loosened by a glass or two of some amber-liquid or other. Princess tended to giggle to the point of snorting when she found something hilarious, but Keith’s laughter, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard with how reserved the boy was, was completely different. Shiro was starting to retract his very first impression of _cow_ , or _cat_ , and was definitely thinking more along the lines of _hyena_.

Keith was positively cackling, barks of laughter coupled with wheezing that sounded more than a little like a braying donkey. It was so inelegant it was almost painful, but it was equally so raw and open that Shiro swore he would do anything to hear it again, even if that involved getting pelted by decaying remains time after time.

He managed to squirm his way onto his side and found himself face to face with the ‘head’. It was nothing more than an artfully rolled ball of old socks and other bits of clothing, but his imagination had given Keith’s words life and scared him shitless. He glared at the offending article and switched his attention to Keith, who was still bent over double and sounding for all the world like he had a squeaky toy stuck in his throat. The boy was cut short when Shiro served up a round of karma, pleased with his aim when the bundle hit Keith square in the jaw.

Shiro held his hand up in mock surrender when Keith’s playful and slightly sadistic grin turned back to him, hefting the ball in his hand, but the truce appeared to be respected for the time being. With some struggle Shiro got himself back to his feet and worked at freeing himself from the hole he was stuck in so he could get back to searching. “So, aside from a sense of humour, did you find anything over there?”

Keith gave him a triumphant smirk and held up what appeared to be the end of an old rug of some sorts. It was a mottled brown fur and looked like patches had fallen out, but there was enough there for them to be able to work with. “Got some bedsheets too. Ya said y’wanted something big?”

Since Shiro had never gotten far enough in his apprenticeship to learn how to make dresses or anything so fancy, he knew he would have to make do with what he had. He had good needlework and he could fumble his way through simple shapes, but women’s clothing was so complicated that it eluded him completely. What he did remember was seeing his mother gather and ruche fabric into some rough shapes on a mannequin, and he was hoping he could do something similar with this. Get some ribbon, hide any of the messy parts under that, and boom. With any luck, Princess would be too distracted by the muff to criticise his sewing skills.

Shiro made the effort to try and wade over to him, silently envious of Keith’s grace and light-footed nature. With any luck, maybe he could get Keith to train with him. He still had that fight with Prorok in the back of mind and if he ever crossed paths with him again, he wanted to be able to at least hold his ground. It was something to bring up one evening, perhaps. At least Keith hadn’t made any snide comments about Shiro’s inelegant venture over to his side. The two stretched the sheets out to see if they would be suitable, and aside from the odd questionable stain, Shiro was sure he would be able to work something out with them. They didn’t smell like someone had died in them at least, though maybe he was just too used to the stench of the street that nothing fazed him anymore.

While Shiro examined the fabric, rubbing it between forefinger and thumb to test its softness and texture, Keith had apparently vanished in the blink of an eye again. Shiro was only aware that he’d moved when he felt something sit on his head, and he immediately froze in distrust. Just because he hadn’t _proclaimed_ that it was part of a decaying corpse didn’t mean that this time it really wasn’t.

“Grow a pair,” Keith mumbled behind his back, and the thing on his head adjusted. Soon the boy was stood in front of him again, arms folded over his chest in speculation. His brow furrowed for a moment before he let out a small noise of what seemed to be agreement, content with whatever he’d found. Shiro reached up to pull down the offending item, finding a slightly battered black hat in his hand. Ironically his knowledge of hats was far from being on par with his knowledge on clothing, but he was pretty sure it was a top hat of some sort. It wasn’t as obnoxiously tall as some of the hats he’d seen gentlemen wear, but it was enough to be shapely. The ribbon around the base frankly looked like it had been half-eaten by rats and the fabric looked like it might have been generously coated in _eau de raton_ , but that was the flavour of the month in the slums.

He eyed the hat in his hand, and then Keith in front of him, and without thinking he reached up to plop it on his head in turn. Where Keith was lacking in stature he was also apparently lacking in broadness, and where the hat had sat rather comfortably on Shiro’s head it slipped straight off Keith’s like a well-oiled post. It hid his forehead and eyes immediately and dropped to rest on his nose, and Shiro found himself frozen in surprise. For some reason that sight in front of him was positively adorable, only made better when Keith pushed the rim up with the heel of his hand and glared at him from the shadow it cast with such vehemence that he looked like a feral tom cat who had had his tail trodden on. In an attempt to appease him Shiro offered him his best shit-eating grin and waved an arm in an elaborate gesture as he dropped into a low bow, over-exaggerating his every action. “A hundred thousand apologies, My Lord. I appear to have misjudged the quality of my wares.”

Keith quickly picked up on the jovial tone between them and put on his best impression of a disgruntled patron, folding his arms and jerking his head to the side, refusing to look at him. “Bullshit, y’idiot. I require a’least _ten_ hundred thousand ‘pologies, y’hear?”

“Would a new hat suffice?” Shiro questioned, daring to look up through the long fringe in his eyes. The quirk to Keith’s lips suggest that yes, it would.

The two boys quickly dove back into their scavenger hunt with a new goal in mind, finding different articles of clothing that caught their eyes as they did so. It was a treasure trove of hidden wonders, and as long as one didn’t mind a few vermin droppings with one’s pot of gold, a smattering or two of childlike imagination resulted in limitless possibilities. The two reconvened after some time to compare their loot, dropping piles on the floor so they could pick out pieces at a time and argue about who had done the best between them.

Shiro had mostly found himself a pile of torn dress shirts and the odd single glove, mildly frustrated at a matching pair eluding him completely. They were all nice enough, but nothing to really catch a young boy like Keith’s eye. Keith, it seemed, had had a much more fruitful time.

Rummaging through part of his pile, Keith pulled out something that caught Shiro’s attention immediately. It was a fitted gentleman’s coat, far too big for both of them at their age, but it had a flaring tailcoat that appealed to all of Shiro’s fantasies. Off all the cuts of jacket he’d seen men wear, that was the one he wanted most for himself. It flattered the shape, and it made him think of capes like ones in the stories his mother had told him. Capes made him thing of valiant vagabonds and unsung heroes and he found himself itching to try it on. To his surprise Keith stepped forward and shoved it into his hands, nodding his head to him. “Y’should try it on.”

Shiro didn’t need telling twice. Dropping the shirt he’d been looking at he was quick to slip into the jacket, and much like Keith had looked tiny in the hat, he knew he was drowning in it. It was to be expected, he supposed. He hadn’t yet hit his growth spurt and, should he be blessed with his father’s genetics, he was going to have a fair few feet to grow. He pulled the lapels round his chest and hugged it to himself, not caring about the torn lining or the missing buttons, and instead lost himself to the fantasy of wearing a proper one one day. He imagined the three of them – he, Keith and Princess – in a large family mansion, and the three of them going to watch the Russian ballet perform, dressed to the nines, he in his jacket and Princess in her dress and Keith in whatever Keith wanted to wear.

It was a fantasy, and he was determined not to let it remain as one. All they had to do was find some way of getting steady income, and he was realistic enough to know that would be a far more pragmatic possibility when they were adults and could, well, actually get jobs. Nobody wanted to hire kids unless they wanted to put them to work in the factories, and he’d heard enough horror stories about the fatality rates there that they were all safer living as they were.

When he finally opened his eyes and said a brief farewell to their future life, he found Keith browsing through Shiro’s pile. The boy had hold of a dress that was, quite frankly, the most hideous shape Shiro had ever seen, but the pattern was a loud and gaudy white with purple spots. Keith’s previous energy and light seemed to have dulled as he just stood there, thumbs brushing over one of the purple spots. Shiro couldn’t read what the other boy was feeling, and he wondered if he would ever learn to.

“It reminded me of you,” he said honestly, thinking of how the purple spotted fabric had called to him. To his surprise Keith hissed under his breath, fists tightening around the dress. He didn’t raise his gaze to meet Shiro’s concerned eyes, and for a moment he’d feared he’d said something wrong. Keith was silent, and Shiro was hesitant to break the silence and potentially make things worse.

“S’stupid,” Keith mumbled after a moment, but his voice was darker than Shiro had heard it before, and that in itself was cause for alarm. He’d heard him spit with fire or light up in excitement, but he’d not heard him so… heavy before. “S’okay for’em to have on clothes and their pretty dresses but s’not okay to have ye’self. Then ‘gain…” He dropped the dress on the floor in disgust, folding his arms over his chest again and burying his palms under his armpits, “Guess we both ended up thrown out in th’end.”

It took Shiro a moment to cotton on to what he meant, but when he saw the way Keith curled in on himself, turning his head to try and hide his cheek, he realised that Keith was concerned about whatever his skin condition was. Although in their first encounter Shiro had seen it as something odd and peculiar, he’d never thought the patches to have made Keith something undesirable. Shocking to someone, yes, and he guessed he could see why Keith’s parents may have thrown him out, but he, personally? To him they were a mark of something different and extraordinary. They didn’t define him – they decorated him.

It only took him a heartbeat to realise he had to rectify his mistake, and Shiro quickly stepped closer, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Keith moved away instantly and Shiro took the hint, not trying to touch him again, but still kept close to him to show he wasn’t disgusted in the slightest. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly, voice soft and warm and open to convey everything he knew he would probably fail to say. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad. I thought it looked cool and looked like you and I wanted to show you. I’m sorry I made you sad…” He trailed off at the lack of response, worrying the skin of his bottom lip between his teeth. He didn’t want to have hurt Keith. They may have known each other only a short time but Shiro already wanted to call him his best friend.

“Ya…” Keith’s voice was hesitant and when he finally turned to look at Shiro his eyes were shiny and wet, but not a single tear had rolled down his cheek. He may do many things, but crying wasn’t something in Keith’s repertoire. “Y’think I look cool?”

“I do!” Shiro nodded firmly, feeling more confident now he’d at least managed to get Keith to crack a smile. “The coolest person I know! You look like a majestic leopard and you climb like a cat, but it’s not even what you look like that makes you cool. You helped me. _Twice_. You had nothing and you were so selfless that you helped me when I couldn’t help myself even though you had no reason to. And you helped Princess too!” He knew he was rambling but once he’d started he couldn’t stop, not seeing the way his words were helping to lift Keith’s mood with every syllable. He wanted to build the strongest foundations for him so he would never feel the crushing doubt he had again. “That’s two people you helped, and you already helped me twice, so that counts for three people. You’re _three_ times cooler than anyone else I know, and I’m really glad to call you my friend.”

If Shiro had thought that his little speech was working wonders, the way Keith’s eyes widened in shock at the sound of the final word was the icing on the cake. “Friend…” The boy’s mouth worked round the word in a whisper, and then that fire returned to his eyes, that spark inside him that made him seem so alive. “Yeah! I’m glad t’call ya my friend too. An’ y’know what friends do?”

Shiro felt his cheeks hurting from how wide the grin he was sporting was growing. “Stick together?”

“Remind each other tha’they’ve only got four days t’make a dress.”

“…I think I prefer sticking together.”

Keith’s signature cackle rang in Shiro’s ears long after the two had departed from the area to bring their hoard back to their shelter, and Keith had insisted on Shiro keeping the hat and the coat ‘to grow into’ and had tossed the wretched purple fabric as far back into the pile of trash as his little arms had manged. When Shiro had asked if there wasn’t anything he’d wanted to keep for himself, Keith had only smiled and tightened his hold on the bedsheets with one bare-skinned palm and one leather-clad hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly shorter chapter this week, but it was the best place to cut it for now.

“Wha’bout a dragon?”

“Stop moving,” Shiro grumbled quietly, narrowly avoiding ramming a pin straight into Keith’s waist. The transformation from Monday afternoon to Monday evening was rapidly approaching, and although Shiro knew that they could technically finish off their preparations the next morning, Princess could very well demand their attention the whole day. He couldn’t exactly kick her out to play on her own on her birthday, not when she’d been getting so eager for it. They’d barely been able to get her to leave the shelter that morning what with her being a bundle of excitement, pestering them to try and get them to admit to her whether or not they were doing anything for her birthday. In the end Keith had had to go with her down to the streets and steal some food for her before she decided she was going to go and hang around her favourite haunts. There were some other young children who were more than happy to play with her and it gave the two boys some much-needed time to themselves.

Time which, currently, was spent with Keith doing a very good impression of a tailor’s dummy and Shiro doing an even better impression of pretending he knew exactly what he was doing. Over the course of the few days they’d had he’d gotten the bedsheets wrestled into some semblance of a dress, and even though it was far from neat it was better than nothing. He was hoping Princess wouldn’t mind the tacky edges. She had to respect that their situation didn’t exactly allow them to have the best of the best, and what they’d lacked for in skill and supplies they’d made up for in enthusiasm. After asking Shiro to show him the basics of using a needle and thread and what stitch would suit best, Keith had taken it upon himself to make the muff to take the pressure off Shiro. The fluffy fabric they’d managed to pilfer in their adventures meant any shoddy stitch work wasn’t overly noticeable, and since Keith could just about fit his hands in there they could only assume it would be the right size for a smaller girl. If they were lucky it would fit her for a year or two before she outgrew it.

Keith huffed in impatience as Shiro pinned the ribbon to the waist of the dress, folded over and over into a somewhat elegant flower. It was a trick his mother had shown him and although it wasn’t a stunningly elegant rose like she seemed to make without much effort, it was at least something. The older boy’s brow furrowed as the pin stuck in the fabric, taking care not to tear it as he adjusted the angle of entry, and then once it was successfully held in place in he sat back on his ankles to assess his work. Content, he offered a small nod and moved to go and collect his thread so he could attach it to the waistband properly. “You can take it off, now.”

Keith wasted no time in shucking it off, somehow managing to keep a perfect balance between displaying complete and utter frustration and yet not creasing the dress even remotely. He padded over to the corner that Shiro had claimed as his temporary workspace and held the fabric out for him, lips pushed forward in a pout. “Dragon? Yeah, nah?”

Aside from designing Princess’ party gown, the boys were also trying to come up with a story of sorts to give her since taking her to a real theatre was out of the question. Keith was quickly learning that while Shiro could apparently weave something out of nothing, when the mental block hit him, it hit him hard. When he had a specific goal for his story, too, it hit harder. Keith had spent the previous day and a half throwing everything and anything at him in an attempt to provoke a spontaneous and inspiring idea, but Shiro’s response was either to dismiss it as a possibility or to just change the subject completely. He’d never considered himself to be a patient boy, and he was frankly amazed that he hadn’t just grabbed Shiro by the ear and walloped him yet. He was getting second-hand frustration from this whole situation.

“I promised her lions,” was the murmured response as Shiro took the dress from his hands and settled himself down to attach the decorations. Keith rolled his eyes in a silent plea for patience, having had this discussion what felt like a thousand times already.

“Ye can have lions _and_ dragons, y’know. S’not a big forbidden rule or nothin’. Aren’t ye the one who told me there’re infinite possibilities?”

Shiro made a peculiar noise in his throat, but he finally looked as if he were at least considering Keith’s words. Good. Keith settled on his knees beside him, watching him work, and played with the loose hem of his own shirt. He knew he shouldn’t pull at the thread but he liked to keep his hands busy and it just happened to be there. He wrapped it round his finger and tugged just enough that he could feel it, but not enough to start a chain reaction of destruction that would not doubt give Shiro a minor aneurism.

“Okay, sure, I guess. But I gotta make the lions sound cooler than dragons. And would the dragons be good or evil?”

“People always say tha’ dragons’re evil. Make’em good.”

Keith did have a point there. Shiro hummed in consideration, mind starting to work with it. Dragons were big and spectacular, and there wasn’t really any way to go wrong with that. That didn’t stop him from feeling like they were a little too generic, though. He wanted this to be special for her. “Okay, so we have good dragons who are on the side of the lions. Maybe they teach them to fly? Flying lions would be cool.” And Princess had really enjoyed the stories about Fala… “What if Fala has to work with the dragons to fight the evil?”

“An’ they gotta rescue the fire lion?” Here Keith’s face lit up a little in interest. Shiro had told the stories of them uniting Fala with the lion of the sea, Ao, and Ki, the lion of the sands. Keith had already latched on to the idea of a fire lion, having expressed a love of the power of fire and its ability to cleanse. For that reason, to draw the suspense out for him, Shiro had told him that Aka, the king of all flames, had been held hostage by the evil emperor who wanted to control the elements.

“Not yet.” The eagerness on Keith’s actually drew a laugh out of Shiro, and his ensuing kicked-puppy expression even made his chest ache a little. He didn’t mean to be so cruel to him, but he wanted to draw that part of the story out for a big climax. He had his plans. “If they rescue him then the rest of the story is useless – he’s too strong, _and_ he’s Fala’s best warrior. If they get him out, the rest of the story will be over too soon.”

Keith had to concede there, even if he refused to look pleased about it. Even if he didn’t get to hear about his favourite character yet, Shiro was at least starting to come up with ideas. Perhaps the most frustrating part was that once he had the main idea down and debated with him, he was determined to keep everything else a secret. He claimed it was because he didn’t want Keith to accidentally spoil anything, and Keith couldn’t even feel annoyed at that. When he got excited he did tend to shout things out. Instead of arguing in his pointless defence, Keith settled down in silence to just sit with Shiro while he worked instead. The finishing touches on the dress didn’t take him long, and they were quick to hide it away, bundled up in some of Keith’s cleaner blankets.

They had some cakes and pastries that they had stolen from a stall the day before to split with Princess when she came back from playing with her friends, and soon set them out on the crate-turned-table ready for her. Shiro’s mouth had been watering at the thought of them since they’d first grabbed them, and it was taking all his self-control not to snaffle one while they waited for her. She never stayed out past dark, and usually started to make her way home when the markets started to shut up shop.

Home… Shiro guessed it really had become home, now. It was a place where he felt safe and happy, and even if it wasn’t the warmest, driest or prettiest of places, it was a place for them to call their own. Was it even the place at this point? Or the people? If it came to it, would he stay here or stay with the other two? He didn’t even need to consider that for more than a split-second. Wherever Keith and Princess went, he would follow. Safety in numbers, after all, and together they could achieve far more than he could on his own.

He settled down at the edge of their shelter so he could watch out over the town below them while he waited, usually able to spot Princess on her walk back. They had a view down the alleyway they were on, both ways, and he could see the city’s clock-tower too from up there. He couldn’t always read it if the lighting was poor, but it was a good focal point against the sky. The stars weren’t particularly visible from their spot, he’d noticed, not until it grew really late at night. Too many buildings around them kept their lamps lit ‘til well into the night and it disrupted his view up above. Even then the skies were nowhere near as clear as they had been on the country roads he and his grandfather had taken to work.

He glanced up when he heard Keith come to settle by him, the boy wrapped up in his own blanket that he’d dragged from the corner, and felt the small thump as he dropped down beside him and leaned against his shoulder. Touch was something Keith seemed more than a little iffy on and so Shiro never initiated it, but more and more it seemed the smaller boy was content for familiar contact like this. Shiro sighed and relaxed against him, grabbing part of the blanket to pull over his lap. Keith grumbled under his breath but didn’t try and pull it back, and Shiro quickly shoved his fingers under to keep them warm.

“Isn’t it weird?”

“S’what weird?” Keith glanced up to him through a dark fringe with curious eyes, intent enough despite the lazy drawl to his voice.

“How many people live here. How many people have different lives and do different things. Like, if we look at a wall, there could be someone sat the other side and we wouldn’t even know.”

“Mm.” The smaller boy huffed and closed his eyes again, thumping Shiro’s shoulder with the side of his head. “Yer weird. Shuddup.”

“Only to you. Maybe you’re the weird one here, smartass,” Shiro retorted, nudging him back in response. Keith whined quietly and became more of a dead weight against him, refusing to be moved. Shiro decided to accept the temporary truce and agree to disagree, settling himself back down to watching the streets below them as they waited for Princess to come home.

He tried not to worry himself as the sky coated itself in a deep orange, the sun dipping down behind the horizon, and no familiar face appeared over the edge of the roof. He swallowed his concern as the orange faced to dark navy and the two did not become three. He was willing to put it down to his own paranoia until Keith got up himself, rubbing his upper arm in thought. “She migh’be out playin’ still. M’gonna go have a look, see if she got lost or summin’.”

“Okay.” It sounded so blasé. It felt _too_ blasé. It felt like two children who had seen adults treat situations like they were no big deal when they were a big deal, but they knew kicking up a fuss would do nothing. It felt like both of them knew they were overreacting about something that likely was as simple as the fact Princess had gotten distracted. They’d all been there, all intended to do something but gotten side-tracked. “Okay,” he repeated, hoping he sounded a little firmer this time. “I’ll wait here for her, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith flashed him a small smile and dropped the blanket over him to keep warm, and then turned to take himself out down the wall to scout out her usual areas. Shiro knew it was logical for Keith to leave and for him to stay since, out of the two of them, Keith had better knowledge of the area and was quicker on his feet. Shiro only wished he had something to do to keep himself busy.

The perks of an active imagination twisted into downfalls in the blink of an eye, memories of horses and screeching carts coming unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Shiro was no stranger to the notion of loss, but that didn’t mean he was willing to greet it with a warm smile.

No. Hyperactive imagination and a general sense of paranoia was all that was happening. He had to keep himself busy and stop being a nuisance. He forced himself up to his feet and made his way over to the back wall, deciding to spend the time getting rid of any dead leaves that had gotten blown in over the past week or so. Normally they just left them, unwilling to put the effort into coercing the crumbling and dry foliage out of the way without breaking them into smaller and more persistent pieces. Thankfully, Shiro was nothing if not tenacious, and he easily settled down into the rhythm of gently picking them up, one by one, and piling them in his other hand. When he had a small number in his grasp he would walk over to the other side of the room and drop them over the edge, taking a moment as he studied their rocky descent, and then turned to start back at step one.

He’d cleared the whole of the back wall of leaves and had started pulling stubborn weeds from cracks and crevices by the time he heard any other movement, and at the familiar sound of a body heaving themselves up onto solid ground he turned around with a warm smile and admonishment ready on his lips, knowing scolding Princess for staying out so late was the only way to ease the knot of worry in his soul. Both fell flat when his gaze settled on a mop of black hair, not silvery-grey, and he saw his worries come to life on Keith’s face.

“No sign of her?” It was a pointless question to ask, but he had to know either way. Keith shook his head, but instead of the sadness Shiro had been expecting to see on his face, Keith seemed closed off, a hard glaze to his eyes.

“No,” he snapped, picking up the blanket Shiro had abandoned at the end of the room. He grabbed it by the corner and dragged it to his usual sleeping area, wrapping it around himself in a mockery of a protective shell. Shiro felt taken aback at his bluntness, and almost felt hurt by it. He’d only asked. Keith hadn’t needed to yell at him. Maybe it was Keith’s way of saying he wanted some time to himself. He’d probably gotten frustrated searching, and cold. Shiro slunk his way over to his own pile of blankets, deciding that maybe they were best to wait. If one of them went out and got stuck out in the cold they could freeze to death, and that was no good to anyone.

“Maybe she’s staying with a friend. She might turn up in the morning.”

Keith only grunted in response and curled up facing the wall. Shiro decided to follow suit, and pray sleep could save him from his fears, if only for a little.

Neither of them spent the night well, tossing and turning and in turn keeping each other awake. Come dawn Shiro could take it no longer, getting up and stating he was going out to have another look now that it was daylight. Keith didn’t respond and just stayed behind, and Shiro tried not to think on it too much as he made his way down to street level. He scoured high and low, checked every nook and cranny he was aware of, listened in on conversations in case anyone mentioned the small orphan girl with the big blue eyes and the dirty-snow hair. His day was painfully empty, with nothing to show for his efforts except for a palpitating heart, sweaty palms and an anxious knot in his gut.

He didn’t return back to their little home until evening was drawing in, and as he neared the overhang at the top he could hear sobbing from above him. Relief hit him like a brick to the chest. Princess, for all the sass she brandished like a blade in front of her, was the kind to cry at the first sign of deep emotion. No doubt she’d gotten herself stuck somewhere or in a scary situation and had come home at the first chance possible. He could hardly imagine how awkward Keith must feel trying to console a sobbing mess in his lap. It was more Shiro’s area of expertise there, and he was eager to hold her close and tell her just how much he’d missed her, how much they both had.

With renewed vigour he hauled himself up the last few metres and swung his leg onto the floor above, pulling himself onto the level so he could address them both. He lifted his gaze and saw a bundle in the corner, trembling under the blankets piled on top. Not two bundles, just one Keith-shaped mound.

Almost hesitant, refusing to let himself think of the various implications of the scene before him, Shiro made his way over to the corner and dropped to his knees. Keith, startled by the sound of someone approached, pulled his face out of the blankets just enough to be able to shoot a venomous glare at him through the layers. His eyes were red and puffy and filled to the brim with tears that coated his cheeks.

Shiro, for the second time in as many days, didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell him it was okay, to ask him what was wrong, to reassure him that it would all work out in the end.

“I’m sorry.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed at the two simple words, shaking his head and burrowing back under the covers. “S’stupid,” he muttered, voice rough and acidic, and it grated in the silent air around them. “Shouldn’t’ve tried.”

“What do you mean?” Shiro frowned and moved closer to him, hesitating for only a moment before leaning his weight against the pile beside him. Normally he would let Keith move to close the distance, but this wasn’t a usual situation. His bone-deep desire to comfort was far too potent. “Shouldn’t have tried what? Checking outside? Surely it’s logical, she could have been out there, we both know that.”

Keith growled something wordless in frustration, whatever emotions he was struggling with seemingly overpowering his ability to form words. It was raw and it was open and it was painful, and Shiro wrapped an arm around the bundle and held on for dear life. Whatever was ailing him, he was not letting him go through it alone. Keith’s sobs wracked the room and brought tears to Shiro’s own eyes, the empath in him wanting nothing more than to help shoulder his burden and ease his suffering, even to the extent of locking his own potential grief away. He wasn’t sure he was willing to face the possibility that Princess was missing. There had been no concrete evidence of anything happening to her, but maybe that was the worst part.

Nobody noticed the street rats when they were alive. Nobody cared for the many children that haunted the streets because they had nowhere else to go, nobody worried for those who stole to live because surviving was the only thing they knew how to do.

If nobody paid them any attention when they were there, why would they realise when they were gone? Children disappeared all the time, but nobody noticed, and so nobody remembered. The painful reality of the situation froze him to the core. Anything could have happened to her. She could have been in an accident, or taken by some traders who dealt in things far worse than merchandise, and nobody would have batted an eyelid.

Only two people cared, and those two people were left to share the burden alone. There would be no gravestone to mark the life that had been a light to their days, not like with his brother or parents or grandparents. There would be nothing to signify the void they felt between them, not in this world he now lived in.

Shiro felt the weight of it all settle on his shoulders, and as he buried his face in the trembling blanket in his arms, he allowed the first tears to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the angst train~ What goes up must come down, and what goes down must go up again eventually.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this week but I needed an interim before the plot really kicks in, and there was no way to comfortably add the next section in without making this too long (and missing this week's update because oh boy I did not plan my life out this week at all).
> 
> Also there has been a rating change up to M, which will play out in a few chapters' time. I will post warnings at the start of the relevant chapters.
> 
> (And another apology that this hasn't been proofread yet - it's 1:30am for me and I have class in the morning but I wouldn't have chance to sort this through until much later tomorrow and I didn't want to delay it).

The passage of time was ambivalent. Shiro had never understood it before, but in his four years on the street he’d seen everything change, and yet nothing change. The city itself was physically the exact same as it had always been. Sure, perhaps there were a few new buildings popping up, holes in roads filled in and broken lamps replaced, but all in all it was still the same city he’d always known.

The people, too, hadn’t changed all that much, at least not in a general sense. There was still the aristocracy, the working class, the great divide between. The world was expanding, immigrants incoming while young hopefuls left in search of fortune of their own. There were still stall-owners and guards and nobles and orphans.

Shiro tried not to pay attention to individual faces any more. It was harder to feel the pain when he didn’t remember who he was grieving for.

Much to his chagrin, as long as there were orphans there would also be gang warfare. It just so happened that the Galra community had been digging its toxic roots deeper into the heart of the city and spreading out like a blight. They hadn’t remained content with only the Daibazaal quarter, and through sheer numbers and cheap intimidation tactics they’d clawed their way through the different districts, inch by inch. He’d been content to live with his head in the sand and ignore the tyranny going on outside his walls, but the fact of the matter was they were practically breathing down his neck at this point. Their quarter may not be much to look at, but it was still home.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder and he immediately relaxed into it, casting a small glance to his side to affirm the identity of his companion. Through it all Keith and he had stuck together, even more desperately so after Princess’ disappearance. The years would have treated them both better if they’d been able to eat properly and get everything they needed, but as far as he was concerned they’d both turned out perfectly well. He found it weird to think that when they’d first met, he and Keith had been almost the same height. Puberty had hit Shiro hard and he’d shot up within a matter of months, and he was now forced to glance down to his friend instead of simply along.

Keith’s hair was still as wild as ever, although they’d managed to master the art of cutting it themselves. He’d expressed a preference for keeping his somewhat long, and although he never stated it Shiro was sure it was so he could feel more comfortable out in public. The peculiar markings on his skin had never faded or receded, and Keith was convinced that what may have gone for passably bizarre on a young boy was downright wretched on someone approaching adulthood. Shiro, as always, disagreed, but recently the idea of complimenting Keith was accompanied by a burning to his cheeks. He’d quickly decided not to dwell on that side effect.

“Any sign of anythin’?” Keith murmured, dropping his gaze from Shiro’s face to scan the streets below them from where they were perched on a roof not far from their base. The news of the encroaching territory warfare had had them both on edge, and Shiro had taken to scouring the streets for any sign of harassment towards the younger orphans in the area. Although he refused to allow himself to get properly attached, it was in his nature to be gregarious. It was hard not to be when other people seemed inexplicably drawn into his orbit, too.

“Nothing yet. I know I’m being paranoid, but…”

Keith shook his head firmly and nudged Shiro hard, a frown etched into his forehead at the idea. “Nope. I’d rather we see ‘em comin’ than get ourselves caught out in th’middle of th’night.”

“I guess so.”

“B’sides, the view up here’s pretty good. S’perfect place for kicking yer ass.”

That at least drew a smirk to Shiro’s face and he glanced down, seeing the challenging glint in the other’s eyes. It had come up one dark night when the two were chatting together about first impressions and how much they’d changed, and Keith had commented that he’d never seen someone with so much guts lack so much skill. Shiro had pretended to take offense at the comment and tackled him to the ground, only to find himself with his arm behind his back and his face pinned to the floor in the blink of an eye. Keith had offered to spar with him so that he could learn to use his longer reach to his advantage, but Shiro’s pride had made him refuse for the first week.

Now, with Shiro only a few months shy of eighteen, and Keith only a year and a bit younger, sparring had become a frequent occurrence between them. To Keith’s displeasure, Shiro’s newfound size was proving to be quite the asset. He was far smaller than him, and while he was the more nimble of the two, Shiro had started approaching their fights with a strategic eye.

“Are you sure it’s my ass that’s going to be kicked?” Shiro countered, feeling his thoughts pulled away from the negative suspense of the gang’s endeavours, and instead onto the far more joyful prospect of messing around with his best friend. “Pride comes before a fall, Kitty-kat.”

The nickname had its intended effect, and Keith lunged in to grab his elbow and tug, thankfully away from the edge of the roof. Shiro followed easily until they were in the middle of the flat roof and dropped himself into a ready stance as Keith launched in with all the enthusiasm he could muster. The two grappled for some time with easy familiarity, Keith’s actions quick and sharp while Shiro’s were more measured. Keith’s breath was coming out in small bursts of laughter, a grin on his face that he couldn’t quite hide even as Shiro hooked an arm through his elbow and knocked his ankles out from under him. With sheer bulk on his side he had the two of them tumbling over, finishing with Keith pinned firmly underneath him.

The boy’s face was flushed from the tussle, although he didn’t seem to struggle where he was. Shiro found his gaze trailing over that face, taking in the sharp curve of his jaw, the almost button-shape of his nose and the way those eyes were staring so solidly back at him with an intensity he couldn’t quite understand. Unwittingly he felt his eyes drop lower, watching Keith’s lips part as he drew a shaky breath. His tongue darted out to wet them and Shiro felt the sight shoot straight to his gut and down—

He had to move away before Keith risked feeling just what the sight of him was doing to Shiro. He sat up quickly and got to his feet, offering a hand down to help Keith up too. Keith was his best friend – he couldn’t entertain these kinds of thoughts, could he? God, if Keith had any idea that he was starting to think of him as more, he might lose what they already had. Considering they were all each other had, there was no way come hell or high water that he was jeopardising that. He tried desperately not to read in to the hesitance in Keith’s face as he accepted the hand and hauled himself up, dusting himself off when Shiro quickly broke contact.

“Good to know next time ye think about takin’ on two o’the big guys I won’t hafta come save yer hide,” Keith commented a little slyly, glancing up to Shiro through a dark fringe. Shiro rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, deigning to look at least a little sheepish.

“Look, it wasn’t like I was doing it for the sake of it. Funnily enough, I’m not really into the whole getting beaten up act.”

“But ye’d do it without hesitation if someone needed ye to.” Keith’s gaze was knowing, and Shiro was forced to lower his own in submission. Keith was right. He’d thrown himself in without a second thought because Princess had been in trouble, and that was before he’d even gotten to know her. No matter what he couldn’t deny that he’d become protective in a way of the other children in their neighbourhood, too. If the Galra did make a move on their quarter, then they both knew he wouldn’t come out of it without a few scrapes. Why all the immigrants couldn’t just cohabitate and work together, he didn’t understand. From what he’d gathered from general hearsay, the Galra had originally come from a land off to the east of the city. While the adults moved on to find work, the children got left behind to fend for themselves. They were a tight-knit community and while Shiro was all for fighting for survival, he didn’t like the idea of needlessly attacking others for it. Together they would surely be a lot stronger than simply being alone.

That was why he’d started to try and gather the other orphans under his wing, he guessed. Keith had been sceptical of the whole idea at first, reluctant to risk getting close to other people, but when he’d realised Shiro was aiming to keep a slight distance himself he’d started to cave. Even if he hadn’t said anything about it, Shiro had seen the fear in his eyes when they’d first started to socialise. That bone-deep terror of rejection was something that he realised would haunt Keith for the rest of his days, but children were far more accepting of the world when they didn’t have adults to teach them to hate. He’d gotten one or two peculiar looks and a couple of tactless questions, but the other children had simply accepted Keith for Keith and treated him no differently to the others.

Shiro was sure Keith looked forward to their twice-weekly gatherings in one of the abandoned warehouses, even if he would never say it. He saw it in the slight spring in his step when they made their way there, the glint in his eyes when he pushed the door open to find the mass of children seated in front of them with wide eyes and eager minds, more than ready to immerse themselves in whatever story Shiro had to offer them. He was glad Keith had convinced him to keep talking and had been amazed at how quickly news had spread. What had started off with three children had grown to seven the next night, and then to fifteen, and it had gone on and on until they were comfortably reciting for some thirty children each time.

“Yeah, I guess,” Shiro admitted eventually, making his way to the edge of the roof so he could sit down again, legs dangling off the side and hanging in the air below him. Keith followed him over and settled beside him, one leg bent up so he could hook his arms around his knee. “I just… You know I can’t stand seeing people suffer. It’s not _right_.”

“Aye, I know. But I just… I worry, y’know? Ye give a lot of yerself already,” Keith said. “We haven’t run into th’Galra for years. We’re stronger, sure, but so’re they. We don’t _have_ t’stick around. We could leave, you and me.”

It was a nice sentiment, and the reminder that Keith wanted to stick with him warmed Shiro to the core. As much as he wanted to take his suggestion and elope, get out of the city and find somewhere else, he had to be practical. Dreams were nice and all, but as much as he could fantasise about stories of a better place, reality was harder to twist.

“Where would we go? The smaller towns wouldn’t have enough food for us to survive on, and without any money we wouldn’t get much further than that. And what about everyone else? Could you willingly leave them behind when the Galra are making moves?”

Keith tensed up hard at that comment, shoulders hunching forward and gaze dropping. He’d been tetchy about the gang for as long as Shiro had known him, but he’d never explained why. He could only imagine that he’d had a run-in or two with them before they’d crossed paths, but the past was the past and Shiro was far more interested in maintaining Keith’s present. His future was his duty to ensure, if he would let him.

“Y’know I’d never do that,” Keith growled a little defensively, knocking his chin against his knee. “They’re bad enough t’their own. Anyone else is just a toy to’em.”

“I know.” Shiro feels the need to reassure him, not wanting him to take his own practical nature for an attack. “I know. One day we’ll have a chance to make our own way in the world, I promise.”

“Yeah.”

Keith didn’t need to voice his opinions. With his peculiar appearance, any chance of him finding a job of any worth was next to none. Adults would barely look at him and considered him a complete freak of nature. All he had available to him would be slave labour, and Shiro would do anything not to put him through that. It wasn’t that he had much better prospects available to him, though. Sure, he could read and write well enough, skills he was helping to pass on to Keith, but he’d had a small education and without a house, bank account or prior experience, nobody would take him either. He may not have any visible anomalies, but all people would see was his Asian heritage and that would be that.

In an ideal world, prejudices would stop neither of them from obtaining what they wanted. All Shiro wanted right then was a way to give them both some security. A real house, a real roof over their heads. Fresh food every day. New clothes, shoes that kept the rain out. A dog, perhaps. A theatre of his own, somewhere he could organise plays and performances that really made people happy, something to help them leave their mundane lives behind and lose themselves in the promise of something better.

Shiro glanced to his side to check on Keith after their shared silence, wanting to see whether or not he was holding on to that tension from before. His shoulders seemed more relaxed, though he was picking at the peeling leather of his glove. It meant a lot to Shiro that Keith had kept it all this time, even though it was definitely looking more than a little worse for wear. He mentally added a proper pair of leather gloves to his future checklist.

“Where would your dream house be?” He watched as Keith perked up a little at the question, turning to glance to him with an open curiosity in his eyes. “Like, nothing holding us back, no money issues or anything. If you could live absolutely anywhere, where would you want?”

Keith seemed to ponder his question, gaze slowly turning back to the streets below them as he considered his options. He’d never left the city walls before so his knowledge of anything else was limited to what he’d seen in pictures or heard in stories.

“I think,” he started slowly, face furrowed in a slight frown, “I’d like somethin’ in the mountains, y’know? So high up y’can see th’clouds… The breeze on yer face, the grass everywhere. Maybe snow, too – that’d be kinda cool, right?”

“And the sheep too. Just imagine, a nice wood cabin somewhere up in the hills with some sheep in the garden.”

“Nobody around makin’ loud noises or yellin’ or nothin’. It’d be nice,” he added, a small smile on his face. It was small and wistful but Shiro wanted nothing more than to nurture it and give it a reason to stay forever. Keith deserved his house in the hills. He deserved the world, but the world seemed intent of depriving him of anything. He deserved the world, and yet he was stuck in the slums, less than a person, less than an animal. It was so wrong.

Shiro folded his arms up behind his head and flopped back where he sat so he could look up at the sky, clouds obscuring the sun enough that he didn’t risk being blinded, but not so many that the sky became a grey mess. They were white and fluffy and lightly optimistic. He could get behind that.

“One day you’ll get your house,” he promised, hoping he sounded as confident as he was trying to. He knew things were far from perfect for them, but they had to strive for the future. One day they would get their break. One day they would find what they wanted in life, one day they would get what they deserved. One day this, one day that. He only hoped one day would come sooner rather than later.

There was a small “oof” as Keith flopped down beside him, one arm behind his head too while the other lay at his side closest to Shiro. He said nothing for a few minutes, the two of them merely enjoying watching the shapes form and disperse miles up above them in the sky. Keith brushed his fingers against Shiro’s waist, barely brushing the back of his knuckles to his shirt and Shiro wasn’t even sure if he’d felt it or if it had been his imagination.

“A house’d be nice an’ all.” Keith’s voice was low and soft, more tender than Shiro had heard from him in a long time. He heard shuffling as the boy turned to face him properly, head tilted towards him with his body flat on the floor. His cheeks were tinged with a soft blush, a shyness to his face that didn’t seem fully comfortable there. “But who cares for a house when they’ve already got a home?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I am once more displaying my inability to keep my life well-organised :P also the amount of meta references in this chapter were entirely unintentional but they happened anyway.

“That’s a busy crowd, tonight...” Shiro frowned as he peeped from behind the curtain, fingers knotting fretfully in the material. It wasn’t that he disliked crowds, it was just that he normally performed for something slightly smaller. He could only guess word had started to spread a little more, which was pleasing in its own right. It was wonderful to know that people enjoyed their shows enough to recommend them to their friends.

He turned when he felt hands grab at his lapels and tug slightly, straightening the still marginally-too-big jacket against his shoulders. After the one they’d found back in the refuse as kids, and Keith’s apparent fondness for how it looked on Shiro and how Shiro had looked with it, it had been the younger boy’s sole mission to find him a better one. This particular model was being considered the in-between. It was nowhere near as ratty as the first one and was instead in a dark red felt, missing a few buttons and not exactly held-together at the seams, but it was suitable enough for keeping out the cold. Mingling in polite society? Definitely not up to par.

“Come, now,” Keith’s warm voice murmured, the corner of his mouth curled in what could easily be mistaken for a predatory grin, “Ye’re not getting stage fright now, are ye?”

“No,” Shiro responded, perhaps a little defensively. “Just a lot more faces to put smiles on than usual.”

The _Princess’ Theatre_ was nothing close to its name in elegance, but it made up for it in heart. The two of them had spent some free time in decorating it as best they could with scraps of fabric and bunting that had been taken down after city street parties. Keith, it turned out, had a hidden artistic talent in chalk drawings, and with what limited resources they could snaffle had added little touches round the single, bare room. There were facsimiles of hanging baskets by the boarded-up windows, a bird or two higher up where he’d piled a load of boxes together to act as a ladder to help him get up there.

Shiro’s personal favourite was a small sketch of a black cat curled up by the entrance, piercing yellow eyes visible whenever one of the candles they’d set up flickered close to it. He’d told Keith some time prior that he would love to own a black cat of his own one day, and whether it was simply because he’d found coal to draw it with or whether or not he’d committed it to memory, the choice to make the sketched one black stood out to him.

All in all, the warehouse-turned-theatre was something that the orphans seemed to appreciate. For two nights a week they had a roof over their heads and an evening of entertainment to look forward to, and any bitter rivalry was put on hold so as not to taint the area. Shiro had seen children fighting during one of the first performances, and he’d quickly understood that peer pressure could be a powerful tool. He’d stopped his story mid-way and said that until they settled down nobody would get anything. Their comrades had turned on them with the co-ordinated savage efficiency of a pack of wolves and the issue had been resolved almost immediately. He’d not had a repeat incident since.

Keith rolled his eyes and slapped the lapels down once more for good measure, stepping back a little to make sure Shiro looked presentable. The coat was entirely for show, but he liked it on him. It gave him an air of authority, something to help the kids forget that he was just another one of them and help them pretend they were somewhere else. He’d vowed to get one of his own sometimes, but for now he just appreciated standing near Shiro’s side when he spoke. And sure, he’d had his arm twisted into helping act things out once or twice. He’d been horrifically opposed to the idea at the start, but seeing the lights in the children’s eyes as well as the sheer joy in Shiro’s, he’d been helpless to say no the next time.

“Ye’ve got this,” he promised, sizing him up once more. Shiro offered him a small smile in return and a mock salute, peeking back round the curtain to make sure everyone was ready for them.

“ _We_ ’ve got this,” Shiro corrected, rolling his shoulders back and squaring himself for the excited eyes that would soon be on them. Keith grinned and patted him once on the back, and then the two of them were brushing aside the curtain that made a make-shift off-stage area at the back of the warehouse and making their way to the front and centre.

Shiro ran up to his position with a little skip in his stride and Keith followed him a hint more sedately, hearing the jubilant and expectant cries of the children as they did so. They were mostly sat cross-legged on the floor in a tightly-knit crowd, and Shiro had been right – there were more children than usual gathered. He saw a few familiar faces that he’d never brought himself round to getting names to put to, but he supposed that they had been following the stories from the beginning. For them it was like having a book where they got to read a new chapter every few days, and none of them wanted to risk missing a big and sudden reveal. Sure, their friends could tell them about it later on, but it would never match up to getting to experience it first-hand.

Keith pulled up a crate to perch on while Shiro recapped the previous story, watching the way his whole face lit up with passion as he did so. It was clear that this was his calling, and if he were a more vindictive man he would almost say it was witchcraft, the way he captured the attention of every soul present. He was definitely charismatic and had only grown more so as they aged. Children in particular hung off his every word, eyes wide as if they could drink in even more of his words just by staring. He was pretty sure one or two of the older children were staring at him with a little more than starry-eyed wonder, but he couldn’t really blame them. Who didn’t have somewhat of a crush on Shiro? Keith was not naïve enough to insist that he didn’t, and the only reason he hadn’t said anything was that he didn’t know what Shiro’s response would be. He didn’t think he could bare it if his best friend abandoned him or, worse, pushed through his disgust to stay with him against his will.

These were all thoughts that he didn’t need to dwell on right then. Debilitating crush could be considered later in the dark when he should be sleeping instead. Storytime came first.

Of all the sagas Shiro had concocted, this was perhaps one of Keith’s favourites. It was a set of tales of a knight who came from the stars, or an ‘astroknight’ as Shiro had dubbed him, who fought single-handedly to clear the earth of hidden evils. Sometimes the sessions would turn into a bit of a build-it-yourself session where Shiro would open it up to the popular vote to help decide where the story would go. While the naming of the protagonist as Sir Dogbutt seemed to be a bit of a backfire, the experiment had gone down well elsewhere. It meant that the kids got a chance to follow a story catered to their own wants, for the most part, and it kept them far more engaged than they would be otherwise.

That evening came the exciting climax to Sir Dogbutt’s mission to kill the vampire who had claimed this huge and ancient castle all for himself. He was a very handsome vampire, Shiro had assured, with really big, huge teeth that were “all the better for biting you with,” which had been punctuated with a playful snap at one of the smaller children sat at the front of the group and eliciting joyful squeals from his neighbours.

“Sir Dogbutt steps into the main hall after beating his hordes and hordes of guard bats,” Shiro continued, pacing slowly in front of the group to keep their attention. He spoke not just with words but with his whole body, shoulders arching whenever he built tension as he seemed to coil it from his core and let it unfurl through his limbs. He paused and lifted his gaze, raising a hand to gesture to whatever he saw in his mind’s eye. “There’s a huge staircase climbing the centre of the room, lined with as much dust as everything else. It’s like nobody’s been in here in _years_ – and nobody has. The castle has been haunted for generations, and the vampire doesn’t seem to think he needs to dust every now and then. You could draw shapes in the dust if you wanted to— _which_ ,” he interrupted, seeing a child that he knew would only cause trouble open his mouth to suggest something Shiro would very much rather they didn’t include in the story, “Sir Dogbutt won’t, because he’s on a very important mission.”

“Is there a chandelier?” another girl piped up instead, gripping onto her ankles as she leaned forwards eagerly.

“A massive one, with hundreds of candles in it. It lights up the hall – about as big as this warehouse here, with marble flooring in black and white tiles…”

Shiro went on with his descriptions, painting a scene Keith is sure none of them have ever seen in the flesh before. Then again, who knew? Orphans didn’t all necessarily have to come from nothing, but it seemed unlikely that they could go from having everything to living at the very bottom. Then again, he supposed Shiro had seen some amount of wealth whenever he accompanied his family on work visits. Maybe he wasn’t spouting absolute drivel after all.

It took a good hour of dramatic scene-building (and over the top monster-fighting, thanks to the demands of the little scamps that seemed to want nothing more than to have night after night of mindless violence although Shiro found a way to work that into rescuing long-imprisoned victims) for their hero to reach his mark. The final assault was to take place on the castle’s rooftops, under the naked light of the stars. Being an astroknight, Sir Dogbutt’s power increased from the night sky – but so did the vampire’s. Vlad the Bad looked like he came straight from the moon, with ashen grey skin and hair so long and startling white that it shone.

“But Sir Dogbutt was not afraid,” Shiro insisted, and it was only then that Keith realised he was looking at him with a small jerk of his head. Recognising the cue as Shiro wanting a bit of a visual display Keith hauled himself up to his feet and stepped forwards, miming pulling out a sword and brandishing it in front of him. One of the children yelled at him happily, even as Shiro turned to stand opposite him. He swished his coat in an overly dramatic manner, something that had Keith cracking a small smile as he tried to pretend the other looked somewhat menacing. It was the biggest lie of the century.

“Y’don’t scare me,” he parroted back with his best ‘hero’ voice, drawing his slender frame up to his fullest height in an attempt to look every inch the brave and fearless knight. “D’y’know why, Vlad the Bad?”

Shiro responded with a hearty cackle, swishing his coat a few more times for effect. “Foolish, naïve soul you are! You can never hope to defeat _me_! Many before you have tried, and every one of them failed. What makes you think you’re any different to them?”

The children were definitely eating it up now. It was all well and good having a narrative read out loud, but when there was action to watch at the same time it became all the more engrossing. Keith could appreciate the appeal, and he was determined to give them more.

“What makes m’different?” Keith felt a smirk that was all too real creep onto his face, saw the slight shift of hesitation on Shiro’s face while he tried to get the measure of him. He could tell the other had something impish planned, but he couldn’t tell what. “Cause I gots me’a magic power.”

“That’s what they all say. Do your worst.”

Well, Shiro couldn’t say he hadn’t asked for it. Keith turned to glance to the children, seeing a couple of dozen eyes staring at him with open anticipation and a hunger for more. A couple had shifted from sitting on their butts to resting on their knees, leaning forwards eagerly. So many souls hanging off his every word as they waited to see what would happen next.

Keith felt his lips curl even wider, sharp and almost feline teeth poking out as he failed to suppress his confident grin. They watched with bated breath, so much so that when he finally did speak, it took them a few moments to process what he meant by “dogpile”.

Shiro, it seemed, registered it quickly, a genuine look of horror on his face mere seconds before the first child launched to their feet and threw themselves at him. He managed to stay on his feet against the first few assailants, all of them somewhat smaller and skinnier than himself, but eventually sheer numbers took him down as he let out a melodramatic yowl. Keith was doubled over, cackling wildly at the scene before him. He knew Shiro wasn’t really hurt by them even as they tussled over him, pinning him to the floor with victorious shouts about how he was no match for any of them. He could tell he wasn’t hurt because through the mass of bodies suffocating him Shiro was watching him and him alone, his eyes dancing with a brightness he hadn’t seen in a while. Maybe it was because something like that, that kind of interaction, was so far from what he would have expected from Keith. It was another display of how the younger boy had managed to break out from his shell and it pleased him to no end.

 

They finished their evening up not long after, the children leaving to return to their hovels in peace with the remnants of a good story on their mind. Very occasionally one or two would stay behind to talk with them, or ask them bits and bobs about the characters which would inevitably end with Shiro saying that they would have to wait til next time before he tried to meticulously weave his answers into the next chapter of his story, although this time they were left in blessed solitude. Keith moved some of the boxes that had been commandeered as seats back off to the side in case people stuck their heads in the warehouse to check, trying to make it look less like it was being used by squatters. He felt Shiro approach him before he heard him, turning to glance over his shoulder with a small smile. The warmth on the other’s expression caught him full in the chest and he found himself ducking his face a little in a sudden rush of embarrassment.

“I’m going to feel that for the rest of the week,” Shiro said, rubbing lightly at his elbow. Presumably they’d hit the floor first, but he didn’t sound annoyed or upset at all. If anything, he sounded amused. Keith brushed the dust off his hands and turned to face him properly, resting them on his hips so he could look up to his friend with a challenging glint in his eyes.

“Taken out by a coupl’o’ kids. They’re like ten years younger than ye. How embarrassing.”

“Hey! They’re ten years younger than me but there were like, twenty of them. Combined they’re, what? Three of me, at least. I’d like to see you manage against those odds.”

“Easily,” Keith countered, sticking his chin up proudly. Shiro raised an eyebrow and stepped forward a little, but Keith wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand. He took a step back as he did so, silently egging him on, and Shiro smirked and pressed onwards. They continued with their silent challenge until Keith felt his shoulders hit one of the far walls, and then Shiro’s arms were up either side of his head, boxing him in. His friend was leaning in to his space, that playful expression on his face, and Keith felt suddenly both very dwarfed and incredibly warm. His felt like it was on fire, shining like a beacon. He was half surprised he couldn’t see the glow reflected back in Shiro’s eyes, but the grey in them were alight with something else that he couldn’t quite name.

“You sound sure.” Shiro’s voice seemed lower than usual and it did funny things to Keith’s gut. This really was not doing his crush any favours. Shiro was right there – right there – and although personal space wasn’t exactly much of an issue between them after their years of familiarity, there were still boundaries between them. Curling up together to share body heat on a cold night was fine. Grabbing his friend’s neck and pulling him down to a crushing kiss? Less so.

But god, did Keith want to. He was terrified of pushing too far and losing him, sure, but that small part of him that hated backing down pestered at the back of his mind. What if Shiro felt the exact same way? What if they were both holding back for the same reasons and neither of them were willing to risk it, but in doing so they were both losing out on time together with their feelings out in the open.

“I’ve never been more sure’f anythin’ in my life,” he swore, trying to put enough conviction into his voice to get his message across without wording it. Sure, they were talking about sparring, but was that what they were _really_ discussing?

Shiro responded with a low chuckle, and Keith felt his gut twist again at the sound. Shiro was wearing him down without even trying. He was just so _good_ – it didn’t matter with what. He was good with the children that came round, he was good at distracting people from things they didn’t want to think about. He was good with Keith, but more importantly he was good at being himself around Keith. No walls up, no pretences. He didn’t have to look like he could handle himself, or look deliberately competent or older than he was. Sometimes Keith found it easy to forget that Shiro was still technically a child himself, and only a little over a year older than him at that. In many ways he carried himself like an adult – they both did. They had to, and they had had to for many years now.

But damnit if he didn’t want to throw all caution to the wind and tell him how he really felt. Shiro always seemed so open with him. It was only fair to return the favour, surely.

Keith reached up to place a hand on Shiro’s chest and the other tensed briefly, but when he felt no pressure urging him to back up and instead saw slender fingers lock into his shirt, his expression softened a hint more than before.

“Shiro,” Keith murmured, his voice sounding too quiet even to his own ears. He played with the fabric under his pads for something to focus on, something to distract him from the impossibly warm gaze that he could definitely feel searching his face right then. “We’ve… m’really glad we’ve gotten to spend this time together, y’know?”

“So am I.” Shiro’s voice was just as quiet, perhaps a hint tender, although Keith wasn’t sure if that was just wishful thinking. “You’ve been like a second brother to me.”

He could understand what Shiro meant. Perhaps that was the platonic word for what he felt for him. Maybe Keith was misinterpreting this whole four-lettered situation that he was trying to voice, or maybe he and Shiro simply weren’t on the same page. He’d never had a brother himself, but he didn’t think brothers were supposed to talk to each other like they were the most important thing in the world.

Maybe it was Shiro’s way of analysing his own feelings towards him, too?

Keith felt himself smile either way, because no matter what kind of admission it was, it was still one of affection. He balled his hand in his shirt into a fist before quickly releasing, using the motion to shake some of the tension from his body, and then stepped in closer to bury his face in his slightly broader chest. Shiro had the bone structure to support someone well built, and Keith could only imagine what he would look like had they access to more food than they did. He buried his face straight in to that expanse of chest and breathed in a scent that was so utterly Shiro that he felt ease and comfort seep throughout his body. It was only improved when he felt warm arms drop to wrap around him and squeeze him firmly.

He could feel Shiro bury his face in the top of Keith’s hair, his breathing brushing against his scalp, and Keith swore he could feel Shiro’s heartrate pick up where it beat against his cheek. He curled his hand into a loose fist beside his face and leaned in, enjoying the silence between them. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t a lack of words, but more a lack of the necessity for them. They were both the kind of people that understood that silence didn’t need to be filled. It could simply be appreciated and shared.

He lost track of how long they stayed like that, but it was long enough that he’d zoned out everything that wasn’t the gentle and slightly rushed _tu-tum, tu-tum_ of Shiro’s heart against his face. He’d forgotten the world around him so much so that the sound of the front of the warehouse opening and bringing in the cold air drew him to a sharp attention, pulling back from Shiro and glaring past him at whoever had decided to intrude. It could easily have been a child coming back late, but judging by the way Shiro reflexively positioned himself in front of him, blocking most of his body from view and arching his own spine as if his hackles were up, Keith wasn’t convinced.

“Heard you boys were having little children’s tea parties somewhere around here. How quaint.”

The voice may be somewhat deeper than the last time they’d heard it, but to Shiro the drawl was unmistakably the same as the day he’d first met Princess. A second pair of footsteps accompanied the first, and then a third and fourth. After the fifth pair joined the door was closed behind them, and Shiro was suddenly vary aware that they were trapped at the far corner with no other means of escape. Any windows that would have served as a quick getaway had been boarded up solidly, and Shiro was pretty sure any attempt to throw themselves through them would end up in a lot of bruising and a mild concussion.

He glared at the intruders, noticing the unmistakable bulk and ragged style of the Galra gang. He could easily recognise Prorok and Throk from the first time they’d met, although Throk was the only one remotely slimmer than he was. Shiro felt small in comparison, which meant Keith would be positively tiny. Keith, who was trembling like a leaf next to him. It took him a moment to realise he wasn’t shaking out of fear, but out of sheer, unadulterated fury.

“Five against two? Y’don’t wanna fight us fair’n’square. Go figure,” Keith spat, hissing with pure vitriol at the gang. Seemed they’d finally decided to make their move on their quarter. Shiro and Keith were recognised as the oldest in the area, and with them out the way it would be easy enough to convince the children to join their side. They would just beat up any who disagreed and make an example of them, after all.

An audible _snick_ rang through the room, and both boys felt their stomachs drop. They recognised the sound of a switchblade, which meant that this wasn’t going to be a simple punch up until one side gave in. They were intending on making this ugly and absolute. Keith’s heart sank. He hadn’t taught Shiro how to spar against someone using a blade, only empty-handed. He could only hope there was just one knife in the mix, and he would be able to throw himself against them. Unlike Shiro, Keith had had a slightly more lucrative upbringing. He just wished his past would stop trying to come back and stab him.

“Why play fair when you can win?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that the next chapter might not be til the weekend after next. I'm spending the following weekend down south of England with some friends so I'm going to be away from my laptop, and til the end of March I have some looming assignments that sadly must take priority. I'll always be around for chats, however!
> 
> Also warning that the next chapter is going to include depictions of violence to a potentially graphic degree. If you have any specific triggers or anything you'd like to know about in advanced, please feel free to pop me a message on tumblr to ask. I can either make sure they're tagged in the future or let you know that they won't happen.
> 
> I look forward to seeing you all after s5 drops!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the complete delay in update -.- from con to deadlines to the flu and a minor family emergency the past month was just a hectic mess. I should finally, finally be able to get back on track with these chapters now and return to the weekly schedule, so thank you for your patience in this <3 I hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> Warning for mild description of violence and injuries. I tried not to make them too graphic, but as with the nature of knife-fights there's gonna be some degree of blood involved.

It was in their very nature for fights to be messy, but Keith wasn’t used to having to look out for anyone but himself, not really. He was so used to letting his awareness drop away to his immediate vicinity that the hyper-fixation he felt on the growing absence between he and Shiro as the gang members circled them and started to draw them apart was distracting. The two of them kept back to back, but in order to prevent themselves from getting cornered completely they knew they had to stand their ground.

Keith scanned the two approaching him, one a broad, stocky boy he didn’t recognise, and the other a girl with a buzzcut on one side and who still easily outweighed him. He’d had dealings with the Galra gang back when he was a child, all alone and knowing no better. These two, however, he didn’t remember from his brief time there, and could only imagine they were new to the club. Frustratingly it meant he didn’t know their styles or tells but, equally, they didn’t know his either. He looked short and scrawny and that was probably why the majority of the group had gone off towards Shiro instead. They thought that Keith would be easy to take out first, just a little bug to be stamped on and extinguished.

They were going to learn the error of their ways very quickly, and very painfully.

He heard noise behind him as someone dove in for Shiro, and Keith barely had time to feel concern as his two opponents took advantage of his distraction and launched in for him. He ducked narrowly from their grasp and weaved round, relying on his small stature and his agility to keep him safe. Duck, dodge, feint – one of them would make a mistake sooner rather than later and then it would be his time to strike. He realised with a heavy heart that both fought empty handed. Whoever it was that had brought the switchblade along was Shiro’s problem for the time being, and Keith could only hope he could clear his own mess up before anything went wrong.

Distraction would be the death of him. The girl got in a glancing blow against his ribs as he twisted too late, and with a guttural growl of annoyance he lashed out with his own fist and caught her in the sternum. She faltered in surprise and then he was on her, blow after blow like a man possessed, an animal who saw its opportunity and would not let up for even a second. Strong arms grabbed at him from behind and hoisted him up but all it did was give him the height to strike out with his feet, putting power in them as he kicked at the girl in front of him and heard the satisfying crack when his heel caught her square in the nose. Her fault for not backing up and giving him the proper space.

Amateurs.

The boy holding him seemed to falter too with the knowledge he had inadvertently gotten his companion injured and Keith seized the moment, twisting round and biting down hard into the forearm nearest him. He sank his teeth in deep enough to taste the iron tang of blood fill his mouth and latched on with no intention of letting go, hearing the howl of pain and taking great satisfaction in it. That’s what he got for coming here with the intention of hurting either he or Shiro.

With enough shaking and tugging the boy finally pulled Keith off and chucked him on the floor, but by the amount of warm blood both on Keith’s face and dripping down the boy’s arm he knew he’d done some good damage to him. “Fucking rat!” the boy hissed, his companion coming close to him as if they could scare Keith off with sheer numbers. He pushed himself up off the floor with a low and feral snarl, body hunched almost like a cat with hackles a mile high. He’d always been told he acted like a wild animal, but it was how he worked and, by the weakening expression in their eyes, it was working.

The three of them startled at the sound of a heavy body dropping to the floor behind them and Keith caught sight of a not-Shiro unconscious a few metres away from the fight, slumped at an unnatural angle. Good. It meant Shiro had taken at least one out, though it looked like the remaining two were pressing in and giving him no quarter to manoeuvre.

“Hold on, Shiro,” he breathed near-silently, praying his friend could hold them off for just a few seconds more. His own two opponents seemed to be questioning their loyalty to their gang against their own desire for self-preservation, and he could tell that their rapidly dwindling numbers had thrown them for a loop. He kept himself held at the ready in case they decided to press in despite their current disadvantage, but it seemed that with a quick glance between themselves they agreed to cut their losses while they could and turned tail like the cowards they were.

The second the obstacles between them had scarpered Keith turned his attention to Shiro, and not a moment too soon. He’d barely taken two steps towards him when he heard his friend bark out a short scream of pain and saw him stumble back, hands up to his face as he hunched in on himself and dropped all semblance of guard he had.

Keith caught sight of the liquid dropping from the switchblade in Throk’s hand and saw red, saw him smirk in self-assurance and Keith knew he had to react. The other boy, Prorok, he realised as he took note of his immense bulk and musculature, tackled Shiro hard and the two rolled on to the ground, seemingly aiming to pin the injured boy down so he was completely at the other’s mercy, helpless under the descent of the knife, but Keith refused to let that happen. Barely a second after Shiro and Prorok hit the ground Keith was ramming his shoulder into Throk and doing his best to throw him off balance. It was rough and it was messy but the two of them hit the ground and rolled with it, fighting for dominance. Keith ended up on top and he let his anger carry him, pummelling his fists into the other’s face. His knuckles were split with the fighting and each movement echoed through his arms but every ache was a reminder that he was keeping this bastard from gutting the most important person in the world to him open like a pig at market.

Throk, for all that his head must surely be ringing from being battered between Keith’s fists and the hard floor below him, apparently wasn’t going down for good without a fight. In his rash need to take him out Keith had neglected to pay attention to his arms and his blade, and the next thing he knew hot pain was slicing into the top of his shoulder by his collar bone and hacking down hard. He yowled in agony and used it to fuel his rage, blow after blow landing long after the body below him had gone still. He would have continued railing on him had a hand not landed on his good shoulder and pulled him round, and it was with instinct that he reached for the knife in his other shoulder and pulled it out, rounding on Prorok.

It was instinct that stopped his blade before it collided with Shiro as the older boy stepped up close to him, instinct that made him drop it as he threw his arms tightly around his friend in relief that they were both okay.

Okay was perhaps a relative term. He could feel Shiro shaking violently in his arms, and a glance up to his face made his stomach turn. Shiro’s skin, normally a healthy tan from the outdoor lives they lead, was coated in a sheen of red that was only marred by tears that had streamed down his face. It was hard to tell where exactly it had come from, but he could see red fingerprints around his face where he and Prorok had apparently grappled and struggled to get a hold on each other. Keith quickly got to his feet and cupped Shiro’s face in his hands, ignoring the way his friend recoiled in surprise and the burning in his own shoulder. He had to make sure Shiro would be fine. People didn’t just take a knife to the face and come away like it didn’t matter.

It took a little studying before he found the culprit – a clean slash across the bridge of his nose. They had to count their blessings for whatever entity had decided to look out for Shiro that day. Barely the width of a finger higher and Shiro would have lost at least his sight, if not his life. Making sure to keep his actions slow so Shiro knew he meant no harm, Keith pressed his fingertips into his cheek below the cut, wincing as he saw it all shift from the pressure and heard Shiro’s hiss of pain. It was deep.

“Y’need stitches for this,” Keith murmured, voice laced with empathetic pain. Shiro’s hand came to rest questioningly on Keith’s forearm, just below his own wound.

“So do you. I… I can try to fix you up. Flesh is just fabric, right?”

It wasn’t like either of them could afford to see a doctor, after all, and even if they could, finding one who could put racial prejudices aside would be difficult enough. But Shiro was right. He had some degree of expertise with a needle... Which was more than Keith could say for himself. There was no way Shiro would be able to sew his own face back up, which meant that either Keith would have to suck it up and throw himself into it, or they would have to find someone else to help. The way life seemed to treat them, he was already steeling himself for the former.

Before Keith had time to voice these thoughts he found himself engulfed in warm arms that took a great deal of care not to jostle his injury, squeezing him and holding him close. He immediately threw his own arms back around him and buried his face in Shiro’s chest, taking a few deeps breaths and trying not to choke on the thick scent of blood in the air. Before the rude interruption he’d marvelled at how steady and strong Shiro’s heartbeat was, but now all he could notice was the way it raced and skipped in his chest to match the tremble of adrenaline-filled muscles.

At least it was still beating. It was loud, it was strong. It was alive.

A groan behind them disturbed him from his thoughts and he shot a glare past Shiro’s shoulder at where Prorok lay mostly prone on the floor, not quite pulverised to the same state as Throk but definitely worse for wear. Chances were he wouldn’t stay knocked out forever, and the two of them really needed to scram.

“Two of ‘em ran off, they might be gettin’ reinforcements,” Keith said, drawing Shiro’s attention back away from the safety of his companion and back to the matter at hand.

“Guess we’d better make ourselves scarce then.” Shiro sighed and reached up to rub roughly at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, attempting to clear his vision of at least some of the blood and grime. His eyes still stung with tears both from the pain and the act of getting blood in his eyes which, it turned out, was an aggravator like nothing else. His world was seen through a semi-translucent red haze and it hurt to try and focus on anything. He dropped his hand down to grab Keith’s and took it in a death-grip, trying to convey his relief that they were both still alive and kicking without words. “I can’t see shit right now, not really, so I’m going to have to trust you to be my eyes.”

Keith nodded with a solemn determination Shiro didn’t think he’d ever seen on him before, and then he was leading them out of the warehouse and onto the street. The only saving grace was that it was late and that most citizens of any standing had locked themselves up safely in their large houses by this point. Anyone left out in the town at this point had better things to do than stick their noses any business that involved two clearly injured and bloody street rats. Even so, Keith apparently wasn’t willing to risk anyone following them, taking them both on a roundabout path back to where they called home.

Shiro hadn’t anticipated what blood loss in the head-area would do for his concentration, but the third time he stumbled over his own feet he had to slam a hand out to the wall for balance. Even then his muscles wanted to protest and fought against him, and Keith was quick to stop and turn around to him with an open expression of concern.

“Shiro?” He stepped closer to him and reached a hand out to touch his arm, but Shiro just waved him off and lay his forearm flat against the wall, pressing his forehead into it as he took deep, steadying breaths. He was light-headed and dizzy and the idea of taking even another step felt like too much. Keith had the decency to remain silent as he hovered by him, giving Shiro the benefit of the doubt and a handful of seconds to try and compose himself again. “Ye’ll be good, s’only a little further.”

How Keith was still standing so tall with that giant knife wound in his shoulder, Shiro couldn’t understand. He tried to voice as much but by the lack of response from Keith, his slurring hadn’t made much sense. Keith was slurring back too, now, and Shiro had to snort at the hilarity of it all. Look at them, two young adults who couldn’t even converse properly. Keith was trying to say more but it all sounded underwater to Shiro. His limbs felt like iron and he was exhausted. His face hurt. His brain hurt. His body hurt from being tackled both by an army of kids and then someone almost double his body-weight.

He could nap here, right? It was night-time, and their place was so far away. He told Keith as much and chose to ignore his friend’s agitated noises. If Keith wanted to go home, he could go home. It would probably be best if he did, his shoulder needed something doing to it. Something important, really, but Shiro couldn’t remember what that was. What was he doing again?

Oh, yeah.

Nap.

He was barely aware of his legs giving in under him before he hit the floor, and a split second later he caved in to the pressing darkness on his mind.

 

 

 

He woke an indeterminate amount of time later, but he was warm, and dry, and incredibly comfortable so he knew he had to be dead. Flat on his back, he curled his fingers and felt thick sheets shift under him. A twist of his wrists and he found quilted blankets above him, pinning him down to the mattress with a heavy warmth he hadn’t felt in years. Two pillows cushioned his head even as he rolled it from side to side, and he wanted to nuzzle down into the soft material and sleep for the next hundred years. If he were dead, he supposed, there was no limit to how long he could nap there.

The sound of a barking dog was what drew him out of his doze because, he was pretty sure, the afterlife didn’t have dogs in them. Then again, maybe they did? He’d always assumed they would be in the animal afterlife but maybe he was there instead of the human one. If the deity in question shared the mentality of the average middle-class worker, then that would make sense.

Deciding that he may as well take stock of his surroundings Shiro forced his eyes open, blinking a few times to force them into focus after however long they’d been resting. He was surprised to find himself in a room with four eggshell-white walls, a bay window at one side hidden behind two layers of net curtains that let only a filter of sunlight through to the rest of the room. There was a desk beside it piled high with books and papers in a way that was altogether rather messy. (What human stacked an encyclopaedia on the _top_ of a pile of smaller ones anyway? Do the laws of gravity not apply here?).

He couldn’t make the book titles out from this distance but, letting his gaze trail around the room further, Shiro caught sight of a few other objects of interest. Aside from the odd painting hanging on the wall that designated the owner of this room as someone of at least a stable social standing, weird paraphernalia lined every spare inch of shelf visible. Shiro hadn’t the slightest idea what any of it was for the most part, although he could at least recognise a standing globe when he saw one. The rest looked somewhat too complicated for him to understand. Then again, being raised in a tailor’s house didn’t really prepare him for engaging with the equipment of other professions, he guessed.

At the sound of encroaching footsteps he tore his attention to the door, the noise accompanied by a waft of what smelled like incredible meat broth. He didn’t know when he’d last tasted anything of the kind and his stomach threatened to rumble at the mere scent of it all. Faced with the realisation that he had no idea where he was, Shiro braced himself for whatever might come through that door.

His eyes fixated on the handle as it jiggled once, twice, and then opened.

To his surprise a middle-aged man stepped in with a kindly face, light brown eyes framed by rectangular glasses and a neatly combed mass of grey hair on top of his head. He was dressed in what appeared to be a somewhat casual suit, all in a light grey, and judging by the intensity of the smell the bowl he was carrying with him was full of something delicious. The man looked surprised to see Shiro awake, and Shiro couldn’t help but be suspicious. This man was clearly somewhat wealthy. Shiro didn’t know why he’d ended up in his house and found it hard to believe that it was simply out of the goodness of his heart. He’d lost that naivety some years ago, albeit reluctantly.

“Ah, good! You’re awake! Gave us quite the scare, Shiro,” the man commented with an easy warmth to his voice, stepping over to the beside to lower the bowl down on the side table. It was full to the brim of what looked like chicken and vegetables, and up close it was even more intoxicating than before. He wanted to scoff it all down without a moment’s hesitation, but a small part of him was still wary.

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh, Keith told us when we found you. You two looked like you’d been in quite the war.”

At the mention of that name Shiro pushed himself upright in the bed, heavy blanket falling down to his waist as he sat up eagerly for news. “Keith? Is he okay? Is he hurt? Where is he?” He almost tripped over himself as he hurried to spit his questions out, needing to know about his friend. The man only smiled softly and straightened, gesturing out to the door.

“He’s fine, recovering well. He’s out helping my son and daughter with the chickens at the moment, though I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you up and about.”

Keith? Making friends? As odd as it sounded, Shiro was pleased for him. He was used to Keith hiding himself away and isolating himself unless Shiro was around. He wondered how long it had taken.

As if reading his mind, the man tilted his head to him with a slightly saddened look. “You were fighting quite the fever for some days. You’ve been with us just under a week now, but this is the first time you’ve seemed coherent. Took us a lot to convince Keith to leave your side for some air, but he wanted to make sure you were okay. You clearly mean a lot to him.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Shiro admitted hesitantly, doing his best to take all this information in. He raised a hand to gingerly touch at his face, feeling the skin still warm and swollen but for now wrapped in some kind of gauze. It was far better medical help than he’d been anticipating. “I… Thank you for looking after us both. You didn’t need to do that, sir, but I know we both really appreciate it. I don’t know if we have any way to repay you, though...”

“Repayment is the last thing on my mind. My son and I came across you both in the street on our way home the other evening and we couldn’t leave you both to suffer. Keith has been helping my wife out about the house and I know she’s really enjoyed the company. If it will ease your conscience I’m sure we can find some work for you to assist with once you’re better. For now, eat up and get some more rest. Keith should be back within the hour and I have no doubt he’ll be straight up to see you.”

The man seemed willing to leave a conscious orphan alone in a room full of wonders, if his steady stride to the door was anything to go by. Shiro watched him curiously, though realised as the man made to pull on the handle that he’d never asked his name which was rude of him and he had to apologise for.

“You’ve had other things to focus on,” came the easy response, accompanied by a hearty smile and a soft tone. “It’s Holt, but you can call me Samuel. If you’re feeling up to it later, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family. Look after yourself, Shiro. If your head hurts too much I’m sure we can get you something to help with it.”

And with that he was gone, and Shiro was left alone in the warm, plush bed, trying to decipher how it was he had gone from the events the previous night to falling in with people kind enough to put a roof up over not just one extra head, but two. He could only hope that seeing Keith again would be able to answer some of his questions.

For the moment, however, the call of the food beside him was far too strong to ignore.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come prod me on my tumblr @kingsandthieves if you want to chat about anything Sheithy :D


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